


This Is Our Beginning (Coming to an End)

by Totoffle



Series: Take That: Back To The Future [1]
Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Actual plot for once, Attempt at Humor, Back To The Future Parody, Established Relationship, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 74,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totoffle/pseuds/Totoffle
Summary: When Mark borrows a used car from an old friend, he has no idea of the trouble that lies ahead. Sometimes it's nice to relive the past, but this isn't quite what he'd had in mind.[Complete!]





	1. One Careful Owner

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a trilogy I wrote over the course of three NaNoWriMo challenges, from August 2012 - April 2013 (hence being set in 2012). It's complete but still very rough, and I've been working to try and get it into shape for a really long time. It's a bit of a pet project and I've been reluctant/nervous to get it out there, but here it is. The whole thing is long, over 150k total, and has actual plot(!) with small amounts of smut. There _is_ porn, eventually, and the others get much bigger roles as the series goes on (in part 2 and especially in part 3). They are in this part, just not for awhile!
> 
> Title is from Foo Fighters - Wheels and believe me, it took a long time to come up with that. For five years this has just been known as 'TTBTTF1'. I've still got to name Part 2&3...
> 
> Oh and, just in case you weren't sure, [this](https://youtu.be/LdO6EpyN9fg) is Graham. He's awesome and technically not an OC, although he might as well be. I hope you like him as much as I do.

~

Although Mark didn't know much about cars, he was quite sure that a bright red Datsun Cherry from 1978 wasn't going to be the most reliable of vehicles.

From the way Graham treated it, however, it was the most precious thing in the entire world. Practically cooing as he stroked the right wing mirror, he gave Mark strict instructions to be careful with his new baby. With a ridiculous amount of solemnity, he detailed how to wipe the steering wheel after each use, and the proper procedure for keeping the air vents dust-free. Under no circumstances was Mark permitted to use the ashtray.

"I'll look after it, I promise." Mark walked around the car, the bodywork so shiny that he could see his reflection in it. "Remind me why you bought it in the first place? I mean, it's shit."

Graham, being big enough that he could lean over the whole bonnet, put his hands on either side, as if shielding the car's ears.

"Don't pay any attention to him, my little sweetheart - he's a silly man, a very silly man indeed." He glared up at Mark. "Don't talk about her like that. You have to treat a car like this with the respect she deserves."

Trying his best not to touch anything, Mark slid into the driver's seat and looked down at the pedals. All three were gleaming, as if human feet had never touched them, which didn't surprise Mark in the slightest. He wondered if he ought to take his shoes off, but decided that would be fuelling the fires of Graham's insanity, and nobody needed that.

Instead he stuck his head out of the window, just in time to catch Graham wiping an imaginary stain from the headlight.

"Will I be the first person to drive it, then?"

"You will since I bought her, although the guy I got her from said she'd hardly been driven up until now, and you can really tell from the condition she's in. I've only had her for three weeks, so I've not had a chance to get behind the wheel yet. Been too busy tuning up the engine, see..." And he was off, giving Mark far too much detail about things he neither understood nor cared about. "Oh, I tell you, it's a real beauty under there! Smooth, quiet, runs like an absolute dream. And with my modifications..."

Mark groaned. "Just tell me one thing: were you drunk when you were fiddling about under there?"

"Of course I was drunk, all the best things are fuelled by booze, Mark!" Mark's scowl didn't deter Graham in the slightest. "Look, I'm sure she'll be an absolute peach, but you'll still have to be careful with her."

"And it's definitely safe to drive?"

Looking offended, Graham nodded. "Of course! I wouldn't let you use something that was dangerous, would I?"

"I don't know – I remember when you tinkered with your coffee machine and it nearly blew up in my face. In fact, I seem to remember you being the one who insisted I helped myself to whatever I wanted."

Graham waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, that was weeks ago. And in any case, it was your fault - I told you not to ask it for a cappuccino, that it definitely wasn't ready to make cappuccinos, but you didn't listen, did you?"

Mark didn't reply to that. How could he have known that Graham hadn't quite finished putting it back together again when he'd gone to use it? He'd only wanted a bloody cup of coffee and almost ended up in casualty. The others had laughed like drains when he'd shown up at dinner with a scarf on in the middle of June, attempting to cover up the burn on his chin.

This wasn't a laughing matter, though. A coffee machine was one thing, but a car was quite another.

" _This_ isn't going to blow up, is it? They're not going to be fetching my lifeless body down from a telegraph pole if I go over seventy on the motorway, are they? Because you're the one who'll have to explain that to Gary."

"Nah, that's unlikely. The most that could happen is that you might go back in time by about twenty-three years. Give or take." Graham said, an encouraging smile on his face. "Which would be cool, wouldn't it?"

Mark tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, trying to process this information. Sometimes Graham liked to say things to wind him up, trying to get him to laugh. Most of the time these ploys were successful; sometimes they weren't ploys at all.

He'd almost fallen off his chair when Graham had described his idea for an electronic bum-wobbler that could connect to underwear and save energy during raunchy stage routines, but stopped laughing when the prototype had been presented. Then he'd thought that the self-warming butter knife was a great idea, only to be told by a giggling Graham that he'd seen it in a film.

So Graham's claims that he'd invented something revolutionary, particularly the more outlandish ones, were always treated with scepticism. The others were wise to his tricks as well, although from time to time they fell for them, which delighted Graham.

"Right. And how fast would I have to be going to do that?" he asked, fishing for further information before he committed to a concrete opinion. It all sounded like complete bollocks, but he had to make sure for his own peace of mind. This was Graham, after all, and with Graham pretty much anything was possible.

"Well, it's only something I've been working on, so I wouldn't worry about it all that much. It's not fully implemented yet, so I don't think it would actually work. But, theoretically, you'd have to be going at about seventy-seven miles an hour or so. I didn't want to make it too fast, y'know, what with the speed limits and everything, but I thought it should be achievable."

"Can it even get up to that speed?"

Either Graham didn't hear, or he chose to ignore that. "If you feel her getting wobbly, then you're going much too fast and need to come back down to around fifty or sixty, give her time to recover. She's a good girl, but she's an old one, and you have to treat her with kid gloves."

"Please stop talking like that, mate, it's weird. I get it, I'll drive carefully."

"And try not to go back in time."

"...Yeah, I'll try not to do that, either," Mark agreed. "We're supposed to be having a band meeting next week, and I'm not planning on missing it."

"You won't, you won't. Remember what I've said and everything will be fine, I promise you. You look after her..."

"And she'll look after me, yeah. Alright, well, if there's no further instructions, I'll be off."

As he slid the key into the ignition, Mark looked around the interior of the car. It didn't have a CD player, and the radio looked much too ancient to pick up a good signal. He screwed up his nose.

"What am I supposed to listen to on the way?" he asked. Graham grinned, and told him that he'd already taken care of that, suggesting that he open the glove-box. Mark did. " _Take That and Party_. Ha! Well, it's a good album, even if it's a cassette. I'll keep it in mind if I get bored."

After another twenty (thirty) minutes of assuring Graham that he'd look after his car and bring it - _her_ , Graham insisted – back in one piece by the end of the week, Mark set off in the direction of the M1.

He hadn't been to Oldham for a long time, and he couldn't wait to drive along familiar streets and tuck into his Mum's speciality: egg, chips and beans. Oh yes, he was looking forward to this little holiday, more than he'd realised when he first suggested it. The idea was to have a few days off, to relax their minds and their voices, and try to tempt the creative juices into flowing. Even if they weren't ready to start writing yet, Mark wanted to be fully prepared for all eventualities, and a week in Oldham was what he needed.

With the others all busy with various activities, it was the perfect opportunity.

Mark felt good as he drove along the motorway, listening to the crackling radio, not quite ready to relive the past. He didn't recognise the song that was playing, but it was catchy and keeping him from falling asleep at the wheel.

They'd been up late in the studio, bickering over a half-arsed idea they'd had over dinner. That morning, Mark had gone out to find that he'd left the lights on in his car, killing the battery. Gary had already left with his car and, not having enough time to find someone for a jump start, Mark had rushed around the corner to Graham's house and begged for a loan of the car he'd bought on eBay.

Said car was doing rather well, for what it was. For several miles it pootled along quite happily at just over sixty, with no juddering or vibrating. In fact, Mark felt marginally guilty about saying she - no, _it_ \- was crap. It was plucky and trying hard, and he respected it for that. He could almost identify with it, in a strange way.

A coach pulled up next him in the outside lane, and Mark, for some reason he couldn't quite fathom, glanced over at it. Half a dozen women in their late twenties had their faces pressed up against the windows, all saying roughly the same thing: _Is that Mark Owen? Ohmygosh, it is!_

"Great," Mark muttered. He gave them a quick wave and flashed a smile, before turning his eyes back to the road.

As he passed the next junction, Mark felt like he was being watched. He took another fleeting look at the coach, and sure enough they were still there, babbling away, getting themselves even more worked up.

"Right, I've waved at you, please let me concentrate. You don't understand – if I crash this car I'll have a part-time mad scientist on my case, and there won't be any more Mark Owen left!"

Despite his protests they continued to stare and gesticulate wildly, and Mark found himself starting to feel a bit claustrophobic, and a bit perved upon. Not that he wasn't used to that, of course, but he was meant to be getting away from that for awhile. For the next few days he wasn't supposed to be a popstar or a musician or a celebrity, or anything like that, he was supposed to be on holiday.

It wasn't their fault as such, and deep down he knew that. This could've been the highlight of their year for all he knew. But for Mark this was his last holiday opportunity for a long time. When they did get back to the studio, they'd be writing, promoting, rehearsing, touring, rarely getting a break once things started. This was his one chance.

He had to get away, he had to escape.

Mark pressed his foot on the accelerator, and the car surged forward, spluttering with the extra effort but remaining steady. He watched as the speedometer crept up: sixty-eight, sixty-nine, seventy... Not wanting to risk breaking the speed limit, he let it rest there for a few hundred yards, hoping he'd made his point and the coach driver would accept it.

But the coach kept up remarkably well for such a bulky vehicle, and Mark suspected the driver was a secret fan. Either that or the fans had bribed him.

"I'll go fast enough to get ahead of them, and then I'll drive at sixty-five for the rest of the journey," he told himself, glancing between the road ahead and the needle of the speedo (now hovering between seventy and seventy-one). "That'll be okay. There's nobody else on this bit of road so there's nothing to crash into. It'll be alright, it'll even itself out."

His heart beating a little quicker underneath his t-shirt, Mark pushed his foot down even more. At seventy-two, the car started to shake. Mark ignored it. He'd managed to put some distance between himself and the coach, but he didn't feel like it was anywhere near enough.

"Come on car, come on..."

As the needle crept closer to eighty miles an hour, the Datsun started to convulse like crazy. Despite Graham's warning, Mark kept going. He couldn't bring himself to apply the brakes, not when he could still read the coach's numberplate in his rear-view mirror. It was starting to fade away from view, but he pushed onwards, wanting to be sure.

Seventy- _five_.

Seventy- _six_.

Seventy- _seven_.

_Bang!_

Something either fell off the car or crashed into it, Mark couldn't tell which. It all went black for a second or two, and then a bright light shone into the car, blinding him and making him cry out in shock. Unable to see where he was going, Mark clung to the steering wheel and tried not to panic. He was absolutely, definitely, without a doubt going to die in a horrific car crash, and he didn't need the stress of a heart attack on top of that.

Just as soon as it had come, the light faded away, which didn't do all that much to improve matters.

"Fuck!"

Mark slammed on the brakes to avoid crashing into the car in front.

The coach had gone, but the once-empty motorway was now a hell of a lot busier. Either he hadn't been paying enough attention, or...

Or...

No. No no no…

"Fuck!" Mark said again. He couldn't think of anything better, and it got his point across well enough.

By some miracle the car was still travelling in a straight line, hadn't caused a huge accident, or ended up in a ditch. Mark did a quick check for broken bones and missing limbs, but everything on his body seemed to be present and correct, which was something to be thankful for at least. He was still alive, although he wasn't quite sure he really wanted to be.

Almost scared to, he peered at the Vauxhall he was now following. According to the numberplate, it had been manufactured in 1984.

"Okay, that's fine. Plenty of people have old cars. This stupid thing is even older than that, and Jason's been driving that Merc of his since-"

The Vauxhall moved out of the lane, and Mark closed the gap between himself and the little black Ford now in front. He got closer than he probably should have, but he _had_ to check the plate, to prove to himself that he wasn't cracking up. It was from 1985, and looked relatively new. Coincidence? It had to be. Lots of old cars were in great condition if they had owners who took care of them, it was perfectly normal. But then he saw another old car, and another, even older this time. Unless this was some kind of classic car rally…

"There's no way that this fucking thing could do anything like that, Graham was making it all up to mess with you, it was one of his tricks. It's too ridiculous, it's like something out of a film. Pull yourself together, Mark, you're being stupid and you know it."

Despite the self pep talk, Mark could feel his heart beating even faster than it had been before, and his breathing was laboured. All of this combined was starting to make him feel lightheaded and like he was going to burst into tears at any moment.

"Calm down," he told himself, sternly. "Just stop it before you keel over at the wheel. There's a reasonable explanation for this, there has to be."

After another half an hour of driving whilst trying not to panic, Mark found himself in familiar territory: Manchester. This looked the same as it always had done, except everything seemed a lot more... eighties. The advertising billboards, people's clothes, the houses, everything. Either Manchester was having a sudden kitsch revival, or... He still wasn't ready to accept the alternative, not until he'd exhausted all other options, of which there had to be some. Mark just couldn't think of them, yet.

As soon as he could, Mark pulled into a quiet side-street and turned off the engine. He sat there for quite awhile, simultaneously trying to control his lungs and trying to work out what to do with himself. It was nonsense, pure nonsense, and the fact that he was even considering it was madness. That bright light, it could've been anything! It was August, after all; maybe the sun had popped out from behind a cloud and blinded him temporarily? That was a rational explanation.

But what about the cars? There'd been a lot of older cars, suddenly, all in one place. None of them looked terribly old, though. There was probably a logical explanation for that as well, but try as he might Mark couldn't think of one he truly believed. Yes, people looked after their cars, but they'd all looked brand spanking new, not a scratch or a mark on them. And the billboards, the outfits, the general feel of the place, everything was conspiring against logic and reason and... It was no use. He'd have to prove it was rubbish, otherwise he'd drive himself round the bend.

Shaking, he got out of the Datsun. Nothing in the immediate area was familiar, but Manchester was a big place. Always had been, always would be, no matter what year you were in. He tried to get his bearings, to at least work out where he was in relation to the centre of town, or Canal Street, or the Arena, or just _something_ he knew. Mark wasn't fussy, he didn't care what it was. If he could find a landmark, he could find his way out of this mess.

God, he needed a fag, and that just made him cross with himself. He'd been trying to give up over the last few months, switching to eating chocolate and squeezing a stress toy instead of lighting up. Gary had even offered a blowjob instead of a cigarette every time Mark got the urge for a smoke, but, against his better judgement, Mark had turned him down. Even without the promise of oral sex, he'd been doing really well.

Still, if ever he was entitled to a quick hit of nicotine to make himself feel better...

He saw a paper shop over the road and made his way over to it. It was tiny, with only enough space for two, maybe three customers at a time, if they were really small. The shelves containing newspapers and magazines were right by the door, calling out for him to pick one up and check the date. Mark couldn't bring himself to look yet, just in case. Instead, he wandered to the end of the shop, had a cursory glance at the dusty tins of baked beans and cat food that were for sale, and turned around again, finding himself staring at the newspaper rack.

He _had_ to look.

And when he reached out to pick up the nearest tabloid with a shaking hand, it confirmed his worst fears.

_Tuesday, August 1 st, 1989._

Mark sunk to the floor of the shop, clasping a fresh copy of The Sun in his sweaty fingers, the ink smudging onto his fingertips. The newsagent came out from behind the counter and crouched down next to him. She put a hand to his head.

"You alright?"

She smelt heavily of gin, but Mark didn't care. It was comforting, reminding him of his dear Aunt Sue. She had big, clammy hands as well, and was always checking to make sure he wasn't overheating whenever she saw him so much as break a sweat.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine."

The newsagent plucked the newspaper from his fingers. "In that case, either buy the paper or get out of my shop, I haven't got the time or space for time wasters."

Getting back onto his unsteady feet, Mark stumbled outside, somehow managing to cross the busy road without getting run over. He slumped against the car, not knowing what to do. He just couldn't think straight. Mark went to pound his fist against the bonnet in frustration, and then he remembered something else: Graham. He'd kill him if he hurt the car - but not if Mark killed him first.

There was a phone box on the corner and Mark practically ripped the glass door off in his desperation to get inside. Once he was, he slammed the door shut and started flipping through the pages of the phonebook.

"Bannister, Bannister..." But before he could find Graham, he found someone else. "Barlow. Oh God! _Gaz_!"

Seeing Gary was exactly what he needed. It would confirm that he wasn't going insane, at the very least, or maybe it would make it worse. Either way, he was craving a face that he knew, and Gary was who he wanted. That didn't come as too much of a surprise to him, really, as Gary was who he usually wanted to see after a crap day.

Hoping the coins would be accepted, Mark fed some money into the slot and dialled a number that he didn't recognise. After two rings, a woman answered.

"Hello?"

Mark nearly dropped the phone.

"Marge?!"

"Yes, this is Marge. Who's speaking, please?"

"It's Mark."

"Mark?" Marge sounded confused. "I don't think I know anyone called Mark." Mark slapped a hand to his head. It hurt, but he deserved it. "Are you calling to speak to my husband?"

"No, er, I'm calling for your son," he said, before adding, possibly unnecessarily: "We're good friends."

"Ah. Well, Ian's in his room. Or were you looking for Gary?"

"Yes, Gary! Is he there?"

"Sorry love, but you're missed him by about half an hour or so. He's out at work – one of the pubs in Manchester, I think he said. The Clocktower, that was it. Do you know it?"

Mark didn't know it, or at least he didn't remember it. "Oh, of course! Has he left already, then? Only we're supposed to be meeting up after he's finished," Mark said, feeling guilty for lying to the woman who'd made him a delicious Sunday lunch only a couple of days ago. "I forgot what the pub was called - long day, y'know? Thanks so much, Mrs Barlow."

"You're welcome. Listen, when you see Gary, can you tell him that I'll leave his tea in the oven for when he gets back? No doubt he'll be starving by the time he rolls in, as usual, but it'll be too late for me to be cooking, if I'm even awake. It's sausage and mash."

Marge _always_ made sausage and mash on a Tuesday. Even after living away from home for so long Gary often requested it, _just like Marge makes_!

Promising her that he would pass on the message, and thanking her repeatedly for the information, Mark hung up.

 _The Clocktower_. The more Mark thought about it, the more bells started ringing, but they weren't terribly loud ones. It was likely that, at some point in their early career, they would've played there, or at least tried to. They would've been in there for a drink at the very least, drowning their sorrows over yet another chart failure, trying to cheer themselves up by sinking as many pints as humanly possible. There had been a lot of that sort of thing, in the very early days.

Maybe if he saw it, Mark would remember it. Even if he didn't, he'd get to see Gary.

When he stepped through the shop door for a second time, the newsagent stubbed out her cigarette and scowled at him. "You again," she sighed. "What is it this time?"

Mark gripped the edge of the counter. He wasn't going to be intimidated, despite her looking as if she could break him in half with no trouble at all. That was quite common, though, and Mark was used to it.

"Do you know where The Clocktower pub is?"

"Yes."

After waiting for a second for some elaboration, Mark realised he'd have to prod her a bit. "Could you tell me, please?"

With a heavy sigh, she took a town map out from under the counter, opening it up and showing Mark where they were in relation to the pub. It looked like it was quite a few miles away, and he was grateful that the car was still working properly.

After buying the map and a packet of fags, Mark went back to the Datsun and set off in the direction of the pub, driving very slowly and trying to figure out what the hell he would say to Gary if he found him.

_'Hi Gaz. You don't know me yet, but I promise we're really close in the future!'_

Even in his head it sounded stupid, and completely unbelievable. Mark spent the journey half concentrating on where he was going, and half trying to think of something that wasn't going to make him sound unhinged. He managed to find the pub without any problems, but the second half was much trickier. He'd just have to wing it, and hope for the best.

Arriving at the crumbling old Clocktower pub didn't jog Mark's memory that much at all. He parked the car around the corner, put the _Take That and Party_ cassette in his pocket in case he needed it, and then stood outside on the pavement, staring up at the sign swinging slowly in the breeze. Nothing, absolute sod all. He couldn't even remember the street the pub was on, let alone the building itself.

Then something happened that he did recognise.

Someone opened the door and walked out of the pub. As the hefty wooden door started to close by itself, Mark heard it: Gary's voice. Higher in pitch and not quite as strong as it was now, but unmistakably Gary. Mark wondered whether it might be a recording.

He squeezed in through the door before it clicked back into place, and instantly froze.

It wasn't a recording.


	2. Strange Meeting

~

Gary was on stage behind a keyboard, singing one of his original songs and looking exactly the same as he had done when they'd first met. His hair was blond - definitely bleached but not quite to the extent of the early days of the band - and painstakingly styled in front of the mirror for anything up to an hour. The bright purple shirt he had on clashed with both his hair and his trousers, and the silver bowtie didn't do him any favours at all.

It was nineties-Gaz all over, except it was the eighties, but it was near enough to count. Mark thought he looked adorable, all fresh and new and eager to please.

He finished his song to generous applause, before breaking into another, which he announced as his last one for the evening. The audience fell silent as he began to play, and Mark could tell Gary was lapping up the attention, even though his expression didn't change.

Mark perched on the edge of a barstool at the back of the pub with a glass of lemonade in hand, and listened intently. He didn't know the song Gary was playing, although he recognised it and was quickly soothed by the familiar voice. It looked like he wasn't the only one who was enjoying it, either. The command Gary had over the audience was amazing, the fifteen or so other people in the pub were completely engrossed in the eighteen year old up on the stage.

And it was no wonder. Gary's natural charisma, his talent as an entertainer, was in just as much force in 1989 as it was in 2012. The audience were swaying, tapping, smiling, and it was lovely to see. Gary didn't talk much about his pub days, he always said it was awful and he wasn't keen on reliving it. From watching him now, however, Mark didn't think he had all that much to be ashamed about. He wasn't quite as polished as in 2012, but that certain Gary spark was there, shining as it always did.

When the song came to an end and the audience began to clap, Mark found himself disappointed, as he normally was when Gary stopped singing. He'd been really enjoying listening to a young Gary sing live, which was something he sort of missed. There had been something different about Gary, back then. Something he'd never been able to put his finger on. Probably the desperation to succeed, pushing him further than he should've been pushed.

Then he remembered that he wasn't there to have fun, that he had to be quick or he'd miss him, and then there was a little voice in the back of Mark's mind telling him that would be A Very Bad Thing Indeed.

The patrons started chatting amongst themselves as Gary left the stage through a side-door marked _PRIVATE_. All of the staff were busy collecting glasses and wiping down tables. Nobody was watching the stage.

Taking his chance, Mark scurried after him, sticking to the shadows as much as he could.

"Gary!" he whispered, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. He didn't want to lose this chance, and being hauled away by pub security definitely wouldn't help him get home. "Gary!" he said again, quite a bit louder this time.

Gary turned around. "Oh, hello," he said, smiling at first but his face twisting into confusion after a moment. "Er, I'm not sure you're supposed to be back here, mate."

"I know." Mark caught up with Gary, only slightly out of breath. "But I need to speak to you. Right now. It's an emergency."

"Yeah? Right, well, in that case, you'd better follow me," Gary said, sounding slightly self-important, in the way only he could. He led Mark to a door with a tatty piece of paper stuck to it saying _PIANIST_. He held it open and motioned for Mark to go in first. "We can talk in here, it'll be quieter. I haven't got long, mind you, I'm supposed to be meeting someone in five minutes and I can't miss him."

The room was minuscule, barely a broom cupboard (the small collection of mops and brooms in the corner, propped up against the wall, suggested to Mark that it actually was). There was just enough room for a sink, a dressing table with a dirty mirror, and a little wooden chair with a cardboard box sitting on it. When Mark peered into it, he saw that it was chock full of cassette tapes.  
  
Gary squeezed in behind Mark and started removing his stupid bowtie. He saw what Mark was looking at.

"My tape," he explained, proudly. "All the material I do of a night, plus a couple of cover songs to entice wary customers. Interested?"

"Sure." Mark took five cassettes out of the box, and held them out in his hand. "How much for these?"

Gary's eyes widened. "Bloody hell, really?" When Mark nodded, he looked like he was about ready to cry with joy. "Well, er... They're normally a fiver each, but I'll do you a bulk discount and you can have 'em for twenty quid, if you're serious." His expression changed to concern, suspicious of Mark's true intentions. "W-what're you planning to do with them, exactly?"

"One's for me, and I've got four good mates who'd love to hear 'em," Mark smiled. "There's one in particular whose face I can't wait to see, it'll be a picture..." Gary had never quite recovered from the loss of his original tapes in a house move. "He'll be so pleased when I show him. There's some great stuff on here, Gary, you're very talented."

"Thanks! But that's not the reason you wanted to see me, is it?" Gary asked. He was pulling a hideous eighties jumper over his head, making his hair stand up on end from the static. Mark remembered that jumper all too well. He also remembered how heartbroken Gary was a few years later, when it had been accidentally-on-purpose shrunk in the washing machine on what turned out to be a _far too hot_ wash (they still argued about whose fault that had been). "You said it was urgent."

Mark put the tapes down on the dressing table and nodded, steeling himself for what was likely to be a confusing few minutes. "Right, that. You may want to take a seat, mate, it might be quite hard for you to take in."

"What's happened?" Gary moved the box from the rickety chair and sat down. It was far too small for him and wobbled on uneven legs, but he didn't look as if he cared all that much. Instead, he looked worried. "It's my Mum, isn't it? Or my Dad? Oh God, no, my brother! What's happened to him?"

"Shh, no, it's nothing like that!" Mark said quickly, putting his hands on Gary's shoulders to reassure him, and in some vague attempt to keep him from running away screaming. "You family are all fine, as far as I know. This has got absolutely nothing to do with them, I promise. It's about you, and about me. Sort of. It's not a bad thing, really. Well, no, it _is_ a bad thing. It's hard to explain, but you're going to have to hear me out. I promise nobody's hurt or anything, though."

Mark felt Gary relax, but not much. "I don't understand," he said. "Who are you? Are you trying to chat me up? Because, no offence, but you're much too old for me."

Mark wasn't sure whether to be amused or affronted. He'd never been declared to be 'too old' by anybody, let alone by someone who was technically older than him and who regularly told him he was pretty. He'd have to store that one away in the back of his mind for their next row, but now wasn't the time for arguments - he needed to keep Gary on his side, so he bit his tongue.

"No, I'm not trying to chat you up, Gary." Mark took a deep breath, deciding to just get on with it. Skirting around the issue would only make things more complicated. "I've come here from the future."

There was a long pause and then, much to Mark's surprise, Gary burst out laughing.

"Oh, that's a good one. What, did you just beam down on your spaceship and decide you fancied a quick drink in Manchester? Well, I hope you sampled their home brew, 'cause it really is something, I can tell you."

Mark straightened up and rubbed his temples, wishing his head would stop bloody spinning for just a minute. This was going to be a lot harder than anticipated. For some reason, he'd assumed Gary would just believe him without question - probably because 2012-Gary would.

"I'm not joking, I really am from the future. Twenty-three years from the future, to be exact." He told Gary about the car and the coach, leaving out the bit about trying to get away from the screeching fans. "I'm being serious, you have to believe me."

"Sorry, but you're clearly completely off your rocker." Gary looked like he felt sorry for him, which made Mark even more determined that he was going to believe him, like it or not. "And I'm going to my meeting now, and then I'm going home. My Mum'll just be getting my tea ready, and I'm bloody starving."

"It'll be in the oven waiting for you when you get in," Mark called to his retreating back. "She's done sausage and mash, and I expect there'll be onion gravy as well, seeing as it's Tuesday and Marge _always_ makes sausage and mash with onion gravy on a Tuesday."

Gary stopped in the doorframe and looked over his shoulder. "How did you know that? How d'you know my Mum?"

"It's not important. I just need ten minutes, that's all."

"No, sorry, I've got to go. There's a bloke out there who might have a record contract for me, and I don't want to miss him, it's my big chance. I tell you what; you can have the tapes for free. My little treat for the _long journey_ you've had."

He walked out into the corridor, and Mark started to feel desperate. He knew that it was important he told Gary about everything that had happened, and he couldn't just let him walk away. He took the two small steps necessary to cross the room, and leant out of the door.

"Your name's Gary Barlow - you don't have a middle name but you've always wanted one, and sometimes you like to make one up for a laugh. You're from Frodsham, the nicer end specifically, where you live in a nice little bungalow with your parents and older brother."

Gary stopped dead in his tracks, but he didn't say anything.

"You were born in 1971, on the twentieth of January, which I think was a Wednesday, and you always say that only the best people are born in January because that's when I was born, too. You're exactly one year, one week older than me, and you haven't stopped finding that funny yet. I don't think you ever will. When you were growing up, everyone said you were going to be famous, and you really and truly believe you will be. Your Nan's planning on buying a scrapbook and cutting out anything in the papers that mentions your name, and even though you're embarrassed about it, you're secretly quite pleased."

Gary turned around, but still didn't say anything.

"Your parents are Colin and Marge Barlow, you're their second son. You've got an older brother called Ian, who you've always looked up to, even though he's the rebel and you're the good kid. Your idol is Elton John but when you were growing up you wanted to be Adam Ant, and you even practised his dance moves in front of the mirror, because even though you moan that you hate dancing, you quite like doing it on your own terms. A couple of years ago you wrote a song called _A Million Love Songs_ , which you're really proud of and hope will get to the top of the charts some day. You like dogs, pianos, effects pedals, _Star Trek, Star Wars_ and Banoffee Pie."

"...Okay, fine. But that doesn't mean anyth-"

"And you're scared stiff of horses."

Immediately, Gary spun around, charged up the corridor and shoved Mark back into the tiny room. He slammed and locked the door, before beginning to pace up and down the best he could. He could do about one and a half steps before he had to turn around, and under normal circumstances it would've been hilarious to watch, but now it was just making Mark even more tense.

"Okay. Okay." Gary said to himself. "Nobody knows that. I haven't told anybody that, not anyone, not ever. It's my biggest secret and I've never let it slip, not even to my own Dad, and he's got a stable full of the bloody horrible things." He stopped and rounded on Mark again, his face flushed. For the second time in two minutes, he asked: "How did you know that?"

"You told me. You told everyone who watched-" Mark decided it was best not to overload the boy with too many details, in case it made things more complicated later. "Look, it doesn't matter right now, just please try to believe me, okay? I'm from twenty-three years in the future, I swear. I wouldn't lie, not to you. Not to anybody, but especially not to you, Gaz. I've never, ever lied to you. I couldn't."

Gary stared at him, and then went back to his pacing. For all it was annoying, Mark didn't blame him. It was a hell of a lot to take in all at once. To Gary, he was either a very thorough stalker, a complete nutcase, or - possibly most terrifying of all - telling the truth.

From his expression, Gary was definitely siding with the middle option. He kept glancing up and shaking his head, muttering things to himself that Mark couldn't quite catch. Mark didn't interrupt, just hovered in the corner and watched whilst Gary tried to process everything. It was taking a long time.

Eventually he stopped pacing, and Mark held his breath whilst he waited for his conclusion.

"Right. This scar on my cheek." Gary pointed at it with a shaking finger. "How'd I get it?"

"And if I tell you, you'll believe me?"

Gary ignored him. "C'mon, how did I get the scar?" he asked again, more insistent this time.

Mark sighed. "You like to tell people that it was during a karate demonstration, when you got hit in the face with a flying knife." Gary's eyes didn't leave Mark's, but they had widened considerably. "But when you were drunk a few years ago you confessed that your brother threw a cassette at your face during an argument over a slice of birthday cake. Eric Clapton, I think it was, or maybe Peter Gabriel. You've never given me the full details on that one. And no, I don't know what flavour the cake was."

This knocked Gary for six, and he collapsed back down into the chair, covering his face with his hands and letting out a soft whimper. In that moment Mark knew, at least for now, he'd won.

"Okay, fine. I surrender." Gary said, muffled through his fingers. "You're from the future. I believe you, whoever you are. What do you want with me, exactly?"

"You've got to help me get back."

"And why would I want to do that? I don't even know who you are."

"I know, but you will. If I've got my dates right it won't be long until we meet for the first time, and that still needs to happen. We can't go messing around with the timeline or whatever it's called." Mark took up the job of pacing, managing two steps per lap. "We'll have to make sure that everything goes along the same way that it did the first time. Although everything feels normal and I'm not fading away or anything, so I think we can pretty much conclude nothing's been changed so far."

Gary chose this moment to interrupt, lowering his hands and raising his head to look Mark straight in the eye. "So, how do I end up, in the future? I mean, am I happy? Have I got a family? Am I successful? Famous?" His eyes were full of hope. "Rich?"

Mark bit his lip. He didn't think it would be a good idea to let slip anything that would happen in the years to come. But he could trust Gary, couldn't he? Gary wasn't the type to do anything stupid, particularly if he thought it would impinge on his success. Even at eighteen Gary had been determined to be the best, so if Mark told him about the future and how good everything was, Gary would no doubt do everything in his power to keep it that way.

Despite all of that Mark knew that it definitely wasn't a good idea, and that he'd have to keep his mouth shut as much as he could until he got back to the right year. After all, what about the bad stuff? Could he really put that weight on Gary's young shoulders before it had even happened? Knowing what Gary would have to go through in the years to come was bad enough, was it really necessary to get him up to speed just yet?

When he explained this to Gary, however, he looked so crushed that Mark decided to pity him a little. This was, after all, _Gary_ , and he could never quite bring himself to let Gary down. It didn't matter how old either of them were, he always seemed to have a power over Mark that he couldn't explain, and this was no different.

He crouched down on the floor, taking Gary's hands in his own. Gary wasn't meeting his gaze anymore, but he hadn't been expecting him to.

"I don't think I should tell you too much, but... You're happy. I think you are, anyhow. You're doing a job that you love and you're doing well in it too. You've been in a great relationship for a long time, nearly two decades. Recently you've both been thinking about making a proper commitment, about getting married, about settling down together rather than just what you have now. Although what you have now is perfect as it is, and has been from the start."

Gary nodded as Mark spoke, a small smile creeping across his face as he took in the vague details.

"I can't tell you anything else," Mark said, rocking back on his heels. "I might've said too much already. In fact I know I have so I'm going to leave it at that, and shut up before I say another word, 'cause we don't want to risk messing anything up, do we?"

His eyes trained on a stain on the dark green carpet, Gary shook his head. It looked as if he was still in the processing stage, and although Mark didn't want to rush him, he tried to jolly him along a bit. It felt like they were running out of time, although Mark wasn't entirely sure why.

"You're happy, though," he reiterated. "You haven't stopped smiling for a decade or so. Not that I've seen, anyway."

"You? And where do you fit into all of this, exactly?"

Before he could stop them, the words had tumbled out of Mark's mouth: "I'm the bloke you've been sleeping with for the last twenty years."

As Mark cringed to himself, Gary snapped his head back up and stared at him. "But I'm not-"

"I know." Even though Mark had been ready for that response, it was still hard to hear. He regretted mentioning it at all, but if it helped to gain Gary's trust, then it would be worth it, hopefully. "I know you're not, not at the moment. It's just the way life goes, sometimes, and you'll, er, learn that, when you get older. Neither of us intended it to happen like it did, but we wouldn't change it now, not for anything, and that's precisely why we have to be careful."

Mark decided to give Gary a few more minutes to get his head around everything he'd just been told. It was a lot to take in, and Mark didn't think that his eighteen year old self would've taken it with quite so much grace and maturity as Gary had done. Indeed, Mark had images of his younger self getting into a right panic about things, either bursting into hysterical tears or kicking something hard.

Apart from that horrible injury that had put a sudden stop to his promising football career, Mark had always been in possession of a powerful pair of legs.      

"You said _married_."

"Eh?"

Gary stood up, looking irritated and even more confused than before. "You said I... you... we... _whatever._.. You said something about getting married!"

Automatically throwing up his hands in defence, Mark backed himself up against the wall, just in case the mild-mannered Gary Barlow suddenly became violent. "It's legal in 2012!" He briefly explained, his heart hammering in his chest as he did, desperate not to lose Gary's trust when he'd almost secured it. "I know right now it seems unlikely, but I promise I'm telling the truth. We've been talking about it for ages, and now we're just waiting to see who gets there first."

"You swear?" Gary asked, and Mark nodded quickly. Just when he thought he was going to get a slap in the face, Gary sat back down again, placated to a point. "Okay, I believe you. I don't understand you, mind."

"Don't worry," Mark smiled, patting Gary on the shoulder. "I don't fully understand, either."

"So... what now?"

Mark didn't know. All he did know was that he had to get back to 2012 as soon as possible, and he had to do it without disturbing the timelines much more than he probably already had done. The trouble was, Mark had no way of knowing how much, if any, damage he'd caused so far, and how much potential there was to fuck things up.

It was already going to be tricky, but then Gary made it a million times worse.

"Shit!"

With a springiness that he hadn't demonstrated in many years, Gary leapt to his feet and made for the door, practically yanking it off its hinges. Mark called after him and, when he didn't answer, followed him out into the club. There were a few people scattered around, creating a gentle hum of noise as they drank, smoked and chatted, but none of them were who Gary wanted to see, apparently.

He spun around to face Mark. "What time is it?"

"Er... I make it about ten-thirty. Why, what's wrong?"

Gary leaned against the wall, groaning.

"The guy I mentioned earlier, with the record contract: Nigel. He said he'd wait to talk to me after my gig, but we were in there for so long that he must've got fed up with hanging around and left! I bet he's gone back to his office to tear up the stuff he wanted me to sign. Fuck!"

A few more expletives later, and Gary was practically bashing his head against the wall in dismay.

Mark wasn't sure what to do. He was determined not to mess anything up, not to talk to anybody else or do anything that might change the future and ruin everything that he'd worked so damn hard for.

But that small voice in his head was screaming at him again, saying: _if Gary doesn't meet Nigel, then he can go somewhere else, get another manager, do it all under someone else's wing. The band can still get started one way or another, Nigel would never have to be involved, everything could be so different. Think how amazing that would be, for you, for Gary, for everyone!_

The voice had a good point, but when Mark saw how distraught Gary was, he changed his mind and told it to shut up because, whatever year he was in, this was _Gary_ , and Mark couldn't bear to see him so upset, especially when it was technically his fault.

"Look, I can take you to Nigel's office if you _really_ want to see him tonight. I've got a car and I know roughly where it is, or at least I think I do. It's been a few years but... I reckon I could find it again if I concentrated. Only if you really want to, though, if you really think it'd be worth the journey."

For a moment, Gary looked like he wanted to kiss Mark, but thought better of it at the last second. A tiny, shameful part of Mark was disappointed.

A few minutes later, the two of them (plus Gary's beloved keyboard) were crammed into the Datsun Cherry, hurtling in the direction of Nigel Martin-Smith's office.


	3. Familiar Territory

~

The offices were just as Mark remembered, and stepping up to the glass front door sent an awful shiver right down his spine. He'd hated every single second that he'd spent in the building, watching as Nigel argued with the others and not feeling able to stand up to him. Even when he'd managed to put up a fight, Nigel always got the better of him.

Most of the memories had been suppressed over the years, but every now and then one fought its way back up to the surface, making him feel just as small and useless as he had done back then. He didn't want to go inside but, just like before (possibly even more so), he felt that he had no choice.

Gary pressed the buzzer for Nigel's office, and they waited, crossing their fingers. After a moment, a man's voice crackled out of the speakers. It was distorted, but Mark tried to work out who it was anyway. One of the few highlights of visiting the office was speaking to the lovely staff who worked there, including those on reception. In the early days, a lot of their time had been spent sitting in the waiting room, chatting nervously with whoever was behind the desk as they waited to go in. That was always in the daytime, though, and Mark couldn't remember who manned the desk at night. There was always somebody, in case Nigel was pulling one of his all-nighters.

"Yes?"

"Hi," Gary's voice was shaking, and Mark could tell he was trying to hide it. "I'm sorry it's so late, but I wondered if I could speak to Mr. Martin-Smith, please?"

"He's on the phone at the moment, and I don't like to disturb him, especially at this time for night," came the reply. "Can I ask who it is?"

Gary explained the situation, saying he'd been delayed at the club and leaving it at that. There was a pause, and then a buzz as the door opened.

"I'll speak to him when he's finished his call, but don't expect him to see you. Come and wait in the lobby until then though, it's getting cold out there."

So they did. It was exactly as Mark remembered - hard, uncomfortable chairs lining the walls, a small coffee table with no magazines. Cold, clinical, horrible. Several times, he almost got up and ran back out to the car, but he kept his nerve, telling himself that _he_ wasn't there for a meeting with Nigel. That ship had sailed a long time ago, and he'd never been more grateful to see it go. Next to him, Gary was twiddling his thumbs.

"I'm so nervous," he said when he saw Mark had noticed. "I don't usually suffer from nerves, but I feel like I'm on the edge of a breakdown right now. This moment could make or break my career, you know?"

 _Or both_ , Mark thought to himself. He was desperate to tell Gary not to go in there, to not have anything to do with Nigel, but if he did that, anything could happen. Or nothing at all. That was even more terrifying. The angel and devil who often hung out on Mark's shoulders were having a loud argument about what he should do, and he wished they'd make their minds up.

Unfortunately, it dawned on him fairly quickly that he was the only one who could make the final decision, and all it took was one look at Gary (young, terrified, adorable Gary).

"Whatever happens in there Gary, just... don't worry about it. Seriously, try to relax. If it doesn't go exactly as planned, we'll figure something out, okay? We'll do this and, whatever he says, I'll take you home afterwards."

This seemed to make Gary feel a bit better, as he stopped twiddling his thumbs and started drumming his fingers on his knees. Well, it was a start, and marginally less annoying. Mark watched him in silence for a moment, curious as to what was going on in his head.

"What d'you think of Nigel, then?" he asked, testing the waters before saying something he might come to regret. The chance would come to call him a bastard, when he was back in the right year with the right Gary, where he could talk all he wanted without worrying about fucking up his entire life with one wrong word.

This Gary shrugged. "He's alright. I've only met him a few times but he's never given me any reason to distrust him. Seems to know what he's talking about, prepared to argue on my behalf to get the best deal, all of that stuff, which is what you want in a manager. Professional, I guess you'd call him. And he's seems like a decent bloke, friendly enough... and he's very charismatic. I quite like him."

Hearing this, Mark couldn't help himself. Damn the consequences, he wasn't about to let Gary go in there under a false impression. Anybody meeting Nigel, especially when he was in a bad mood, deserved to be thoroughly prepared beforehand by someone older, wiser and who had been through it all before. Mark could've done with someone like that when the band first started.

"He's a complete and total prick."

"Eh?"

"Trust me Gaz, you don't want anything to do with him... Then again, you really do. Oh fuck, it's so hard to explain." Mark covered his face with his hands. "I wish I could tell you everything so you'll be prepared, but I know you've got to make the judgement for yourself. This is all I'll say: he's not a nice man. Not often, anyway. There's good in him but it's buried so deep under the surface you can only find it if you dig _really_ deep. He may act friendly, and he _does_ know what he's talking about and is _very_ good at getting the best deal... but he ruined a lot of lives, mate. That's what happens when you let Nigel take control. Maybe he doesn't mean to do it, but he does it anyway, one way or another."

"I don't know what you mean. How do you know Nigel?"

"Oh Gary, isn't it obvious?" Mark looked up to see Gary shaking his head. Mark sighed. "I worked for Nigel."

"Eh?" Glancing at Mark's designer t-shirt and expensive jeans, Gary smirked, one eyebrow raised. "What were you, his PA or something?"

"No, I was one-fifth of his fucking pension," Mark grumbled. Gary didn't seem to be getting it. "It was a band. It still _is_ a band, most of the time. You, me, Howard, Jason and Rob. Nigel was our manager for six bloody years. Six very long, painful years. Good ones, too, I have to admit, but sometimes you have to wonder if the crap stuff was all worth it. I suppose it was, when you look at how things are for us all now, but fuck me, we went through so much shit to get there."

With Gary looking stunned next to him, Mark ran briefly through their history leaving out some of the more salacious details. As he did, he thought he should probably shut up, but the more he talked the more Gary's eyes widened, and Mark knew that he couldn't leave him hanging. Despite the failings it was a damn good story, and whilst he spoke Mark wondered whether they could change any of it, to get rid of the worst parts and make the good ones even better.

Messing around with timelines was always going to be a bad idea, but Mark didn't want to change the whole world. Just five little bits of it.

When he got to the split, Gary interrupted him, focusing on entirely the wrong thing.

"Wait. So, this Robbie bloke... He gets more famous than me, despite _me_ being the lead singer in the band?"

Mark pinched Gary's arm, making him squeal. "Yes, but that's not the point!" He let go. "It doesn't matter about that, Gaz. Trust me; you end up just as loved as he does a few years down the line. Right now, in the year I'm in, we're all pretty well loved. You especially, at the moment. The point is that none of us got a brilliant deal in the nineties, not one of us. Sure, we had fame and fortune, and our pick of the girls and boys who threw themselves in our path, but some of the aftereffects have been awful."

As Gary rubbed at his sore flesh, Mark continued, counting off on his fingers. He couldn't stop, not now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd told their story to someone who didn't already know every detail of it, and it was oddly freeing.

"The split hit Howard the hardest, and we all still worry about him sometimes, in case his mood dips again. Jason lost all of his self-confidence, it took him years to get it back and even now he doesn't like public appearances all that much. Rob turned to drink and drugs, and spent quite a few years in a slanging match with... well, with you. He did most of the slanging, if I'm honest."

As Mark went into a bit more detail, he found himself thinking about what he'd just said. He'd been stuck right in the middle of the Gary and Rob stuff, and it had been incredibly difficult to deal with. Lying to each of them about his relationship with the other was something that he still regretted, despite all the friendly feelings now. Maybe that was something he could change as well, somehow engineer it so that they wouldn't hate one another. How, he didn't know, but it was worth a try. What harm could it do?

Gary, however, wasn't interested in any of that. For someone of his age and in his position, things like being pulled through the press and attacked by one of your former best friends was so low on his list of things that mattered, they practically didn't exist. He didn't even seem that bothered about his failed solo career in comparison to-

"What do you mean I get _fat_!?"

Quietly, Mark laughed. He couldn't help it. The Gary that Mark loved never really cared what he looked like – as long as he had clothes on he was happy. He hadn't always been like that, though. When they'd first started out it was often Gary who spent the longest in the bathroom, fiddling with his hair in front of the mirror, trying to get it perfect. He'd described it as 'high maintenance', and it definitely had been.

"Seriously Mark, are you pissing me about? Why do I get fat?"

"Because," Mark told him, "you eat too much. Don't worry, you slim down again after awhile. Now you're a positive sex-god. Everyone fancies Gary Barlow from Frodsham."

This perked Gary up. "Yeah? Well, I'll make sure to lay off the chips from now on, prevent the fat thing altogether." He prodded his stomach and sighed mournfully, slouching again. "That's a shame, that is. I do love a chip butty of an evening, and there's nothing quite like the excitement of a Twix bar."

"The most exciting you get nowadays is maybe a few extra carrot sticks after your run."

Gary screwed up his face. "Run? Ugh. I don't think I like my future-self very much."

"I do," Mark said, laying a hand on his knee. Not a good idea, but a natural impulse he couldn't control. He resisted the urge to squeeze, but it was a close call. "You turn out okay mate, seriously."

A bashful smile replaced Gary's anguished expression - it was the smile that usually appeared when Mark complimented his piano-playing or admired his newest discovered muscle.

"So, what do I do about Nigel, then?" Gary asked, the colour draining from his face as he remembered what they were doing there. "If everything turns out okay in 2012 then I don't want to change anything, do I? Apart from the fat thing. But wouldn't it be better to just put up with the rest of the crap bits and let nature take its course?"

"I suppose so," muttered Mark. "We should try to keep everything the same."

It was for the best, he could see that.

Gary nodded. "I'm sorry that everything was bad under Nigel and all, even if it's better now. Hey, you never told me what happened to you because of him."

Just as Mark went to say that it wasn't important, a figure appeared in the doorway, saying that Mr. Martin-Smith was finally off the phone, and had graciously agreed to see him. Gary got up and, with a nervous glance over his shoulder at Mark, followed the man into the room.

Outside the office, Mark tried his best to eavesdrop. Every so often he'd get a snippet of a sentence or a whole word, but from what he could make out it was mostly Nigel ranting and raving about being kept waiting. He heard him shout something about _plenty of other boys_ and then _total respect_ , and it didn't sound as if Gary had managed to get a single word in. That was fairly typical of a full on Nigel rant. Once he really got going (and it didn't take much), there was no stopping him until he'd made whatever point he was aiming for. Any interruptions or eyerolling got shot down immediately, and they'd all learnt to tune it out and wait for it to end.

Just listening to it brought back depressing memories, and although he knew Gary was made of strong stuff, Mark wanted to barge in there and rescue him. He wasn't afraid of Nigel anymore, and hadn't been for some time. He knew how to stand up for himself, and, more importantly, he knew how to stand up to people like Nigel. Mark pictured himself bursting into the office, all heroic, and rescuing Gary from the nasty man. Unnecessary, perhaps, but a nice thought for a moment.

No, the best course of action would be to wait it out, let Nigel be angry for a bit and then things would go ahead as they were meant to. Mark could get back to the right time and it would all be over in a matter of hours. It was hard to hear him shouting at Gary, but it was for the best in the long run. At least, Mark hoped so. He shifted around in the horrible seat, trying to get himself comfortable for the long wait. Nigel's rants could go on for hours when he was genuinely furious, and he wasn't far away from that, Mark could tell. Nigel's biggest pet peeve was people being late, which Mark, Rob and Howard had all found out very early on. Jason had never been late to anything in his life, and Gary was usually far too professional for such things, so it was strange to hear him getting an earbashing for just that.

As Mark sat and prayed on Gary's behalf, the security guard/receptionist left the office and sat down heavily in his swivel chair, the situation with Gary obviously declared 'non-threatening'. He started rifling through the small filing cabinet under the desk, clearly looking for something. Over and over again he took a few pieces of paper out, glanced at them, and put them back. When he found whatever it was he was after, he leaned back in his seat and started to read, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.

Mark watched him in silence, every single muscle in his body taut with indescribable anger. He wasn't a violent person to say the least, but at that moment he felt like getting up, ripping a fire extinguisher from the wall and aiming it right at his stupid, balding head.

It was Graham.

Of _course_ it was Graham! Everything came flooding back in one huge wave, making Mark feel sick and dizzy and goddamn furious all at the same time.

Graham had worked for Nigel in the early days, officially just a general security guard but often being roped into doing other things outside the terms of his contract. Sometimes he manned the desk, sometimes he answered the phones, sometimes he stood next to Nigel and looked menacing. The fact that he was docile as a lamb, a total pacifist and actually a bit rubbish at fighting didn't seem to make all that much difference. He'd always been big, strong and terrifying looking, and that came in handy for protecting Nigel against pissed off clients (an alarmingly regular occurrence), or heavy lifting as and when required.

And there he was, sitting behind his desk without a care. Mark's whole world had been turned upside down, and the man responsible was just sitting there, and he was _reading_!

"You total bastard!"

Graham glanced up from his paperwork, perplexed. It must've seemed a little odd that some bloke he'd never met before was calling him a total bastard in the middle of his workplace, but Mark didn't care. He wasn't going to let Graham get away with it, even if this particular Graham had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

"All of this is your fucking fault!" he cried, advancing on Graham and knocking the papers out of his hand. They flew everywhere, but Graham didn't move to pick them up, or to punch Mark in the face. He looked like he was in shock, which could wear off at any time and end up with Mark in traction. "I should be in Oldham with my family right now, it's supposed to be my holiday! But because of you and your bloody ridiculous car, I'm stuck here, twenty-three _years_ behind where I should be!"

Graham went to say something – or to threaten to call the police, maybe – but Mark wouldn't let him talk. He was too damn pissed to let anyone or anything get in the way of what he needed to say, especially the person who'd caused the problems in the first place. If it hadn't been for Graham and his stupid car...

"No, you twat, don't you dare say a word! You're going to listen to me, and then you're going to fix everything." He leant over the desk so that he was right in Graham's face, making sure he was paying attention. "You put a bloody time machine in your car and it only went and fucking worked, didn't it! Now I'm stranded here and I don't know how to get back, and I need to get back right now. You," he pressed a finger into Graham's chest, hard, "have to help me."

For a second, Graham looked as if he was about to deck Mark. It would've been easy enough - just a quick tap from one of his massive hands could've sent Mark flying into next week (which would've been confusing, considering). But he didn't. He just sat there and blinked. Mark could tell that he was thinking, he just wasn't sure what about. Hopefully he was thinking about the solution, how to fix the mess Mark was in, and what the next step was.

"...It worked?"

Mark, struck dumb, stared at him. Now he thought of it, it wouldn't have been all that surprising if the whole situation turned out to be one of Graham's elaborate plans for testing his new invention. It was a very Graham thing to do. Graham looked far too confused for that to be the case, though, and that could only mean one thing: Graham genuinely hadn't been expecting this.

When Mark didn't answer his question, Graham continued. "I came up with the plans for a time machine a few weeks ago. Look!" He bent down and picked up the papers Mark had knocked to the ground. When he held them up, Mark saw an extremely complicated looking diagram with a lot of scribbles and arrows around it. None of it seemed to be in English, but then Graham did have absolutely dreadful handwriting. "This is just the bare bones of the idea, something I've been working on here and there since I thought of it, when I get an hour or so to myself. I've sourced all the components, even managed to fit a few of them together in what I hope is the right order. But I haven't quite figured out how to fuel it, yet. I must manage it in the years to come... Or did I send you back to tell me about it, so that I could... No, that wouldn't work..."  
  
"I don't care about that!" Mark cried, after realising he was letting him ramble on, as usual. "I've got to get back to my own time. And quickly, because we're having a band meeting soon, and there's no bloody way I'm missing it."

"Okay, okay, don't panic." Graham leaned forward. There was a grin on his face - hidden under genuine concern, but there all the same. It was a puzzle, and Graham loved puzzles even more than he loved juggling fire and wearing exceptionally cool hats. This sort of thing was right up his street. "So, what's the fuel?"

This stopped Mark in his tracks. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I... I don't know."

Graham looked massively disappointed in Mark, as if he'd just told him there was no Santa or no, he couldn't dance in the background during _Could It Be Magic_ tonight.

"That's no good, is it? God, what could it be? There's nothing that I can think of that would have the capacity to actually send a car and passenger back through time in one piece..." Graham got to his feet and grabbed Mark by the shoulders, pulling him partway over the desk. He was all but foaming at the mouth, such was his excitement at the prospect of tinkering with one of his experiments all night. And for a genuine reason, for once. "I need to examine the car! If I can get it back to my house and look at the parts, I might be able to work out our answer. Of course, I'll likely have to take a few days off work, but I'm sure I can arrange that with Mr. Martin-Smith, if he's in a generous mood. And if not, fuck it! I'm going to be rich if I can figure this out! C'mon, where's the car?"

"It's parked in the multi-storey over the road, I've got the key in my poc-"

"Let's go, right now!"

He was nearly out of the door, dragging Mark along with him, before Mark managed to twist out of his grip. He turned and looked at Nigel's office, thinking of Gary, who was still in there, and still being shouted at. Mark had promised him a lift home afterwards and, if his memory served him correctly, Gary would need a shoulder to cry on after Nigel finished with him. Cry or punch, anyway.

"Hold on!" Mark threw the keys at Graham. "I'll meet you out there in a few minutes. I've got to wait for Gary, I promised I would. I can't let him down, especially not after what he's been through tonight."

To Mark's surprise, Graham glanced down at the keys he'd caught and then back up at Mark again. He crossed the room and took Mark firmly by the shoulders for a second time, looking him straight in the eye. This involved him bending down a good few inches, and normally he liked to crack a joke about this, but not tonight. He had a very, very serious look on his face, which was unusual to say the least.

"You can't interact with him! You can't interact with anybody, er... What did you say your name was?"

"Mark. And I have to! Graham, you don't understand – that's Gary! He's... Gary! In the future, we're thinking about getting ma-"

One of Graham's impossibly large hands was slapped over Mark's mouth, rendering him completely unable to speak. Breathing was also quite difficult. Graham stared at him with wide eyes, keeping his free hand on Mark's shoulder, all but pinning him to the wall. The more Mark struggled, the tighter he held on.

"No, Mark, you can't tell me about anything that has happened or might happen in the next two decades! Nobody must know anything at all about the future or it could have disastrous effects! Thank goodness you only almost told me about it. I mean, I'm a scientist, I'm equipped to handle things like this. But if you'd told your friend Gary about anything that happens to either of you, the consequences could be dire!"

When Graham finally let go, Mark winced.

"Fuck. We might have a problem."


	4. First Things First

~

Graham drove. Quickly. But not too quickly.

In the backseat, Mark's knees were being squashed by the keyboard and his side was aching from having a mostly unconscious Gary slumped against him. They were shooting down the deserted high-street, back past The Clocktower pub, on their way to Gary's house. Gary's old house, to Mark. He'd been momentarily confused when Graham had asked for the address, and almost given his current one. It was only when Graham questioned it with a raised eyebrow that Mark realised he was thinking in the wrong year, again.

"How, er... how long does this homemade chloroform stuff of yours take to wear off?"

"For the last time, it's not chloroform!" Graham told him. "But, by my calculations, an hour. We didn't use enough to knock him out properly, and it should give us plenty of time for us to get him home. Getting him into his bed and sneaking back out again without his family catching us may be tricky, but I'm sure between the two of us we'll be able to work it out."

They didn't have much choice in the matter, and Mark felt awful about the whole thing. Just looking at Gary - who was already devastated about Nigel telling him to _take his demo tape and fuck off_ \- he felt a pang of guilt that struck him right in the heart. Though unconscious, his face was screwed up in distress, and Mark guessed it was only half because of Nigel. The rest was more likely from hitting his head on the doorframe as he'd struggled in their grip.

According to Graham, it was the only way.

Mark shuddered to think why Graham had a pamphlet entitled _101 Ways to Temporarily Knock Someone Out_ , or why he had made his own version of chloroform – then again, Mark had never been a security guard, so how did he know what they did in their training? Still, he wasn't sure it was completely necessary to bind Gary to the door handle of the car. Stop him freaking out and trying to escape from a moving car if he wakes up, Graham had reasoned. It was a fair point, but Mark couldn't help rubbing at the flesh of Gary's wrist, where Graham's tie was firmly wrapped.

"Once we've got him home, we'll go back to my place and figure out how to send you back. With any luck you won't have screwed anything up too much and no harm will be done. The stuff you told Gary should fade from his mind in a few days, if we gave him enough of the knock-out drops. He might even forget all about it overnight. That'd be the best outcome, obviously, that he forgets everything, or at the very least thinks it was all a strange dream. I don't expect he'll forget the meeting with Nigel, though. I doubt even the strongest chloroform would help with that."

"Shit, what about Nigel? If he doesn't accept Gary's tape and go about setting up an audition, the band won't get together, will it?"

Mark saw Graham's knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel. They stopped at the traffic lights and he twisted around in his seat.

"Well, ordinarily I would say that's your own fault and you'll have to live without being rich and famous. But from what you've told me about it so far, however, your band not forming could have a detrimental effect on not just you, but the entire nation. Perhaps even the world!"

Despite the situation, Mark puffed out his chest at that. His little pop band, affect the entire world by not existing? That was something to be proud of.

No, no! He couldn't let it come to that, not in a million (and twenty-three) years.

"Okay, that can't happen," he said, shifting around so that he was able to support Gary's weight in a more comfortable position. "I'm not leaving until the band is formed, and that's all there is to it."

"You might not be leaving at all," Graham told him. "This car is bloody awful! It keeps crunching its gears and it judders like crazy when it's in first. I may have to do some serious modifications if it's going to withstand any sort of speed, let alone travel through time and space."

Mark went to respond with something witty, but was distracted. Gary seemed more awake, lolling against him even more and groaning softly.

"Er, mate, it looks like you didn't put enough stuff on that cloth – he's coming to!"

"There's more in here," Graham said, leaning over and opening the glovebox. The lights changed, and he sat back up again. "I can't get it. Can you reach from there?"

Gary groaned louder, and his eyelids started to flutter. Mark moved him as carefully as possible, standing up in the footwell so that he could lay him down on the back seat. Then, trying not to get in Graham's way or topple over in a moving vehicle, Mark climbed into the front.

The glass bottle was wrapped up in a soft cloth, and Mark tipped a few drops out.

"Are you sure this is safe to do? It's not poisonous?"

"Of course it isn't," Graham said, sounding offended, as he usually did when one of his inventions was met with hesitance or a quizzical look. "It's lavender."

"Just lavender?"

"No. But most of it is, with a few drops of some other things."

Mark hesitated. "So... Is it poisonous?"

"Not all of it. But look, you're only giving him a tiny bit, and you're there to watch him. If you monitor his breathing and keep an eye on his pulse for a couple of minutes, he'll be fine."

"What about later on?" Mark asked. "When we've left him at his place on his own?"

"Mark, seriously. He'll be _fine_ , I promise you. I know that you care a great deal for him, even though I really shouldn't, but it's going to be okay. I've tried it out on myself, and nothing untoward happened. It's just herbs and stuff, no scary chemicals. C'mon, hurry up!"

There was no time for further doubts.

Trying not to think about what would happen if they were to crash, Mark turned and knelt up on the seat, placing the cloth over Gary's mouth and nose. He stopped twitching almost at once. Mark checked his pulse and breathing – everything seemed normal, but it didn't stop him feeling awful for Gary. Poor kid had suffered enough already tonight, he didn't need his future-boyfriend rendering him unconscious on top of everything else.

As Mark bent forward to put the bottle and cloth back into the glove compartment, he felt something in his trouser pocket digging into his hip, and pulled it out.

It was the _Take That and Party_ cassette. He squinted at it in the dark... No title. No picture.

"Graham... Graham, fuck! Look at this!"

He held it right under Graham's nose, ignoring his attempts to bat it out of the way.

"Mark, I can't see!"

"But look at it! This is the first Take That album! Or it was! It looks like it's a blank tape, now..."

With trembling hands, Mark opened it up, relieved to find a cassette still in the box. He put it into the cassette player and pressed play - nothing. He turned it over to try the other side - still nothing.

Now he was starting to panic. All in all, Mark had only had the odd moment of Sheer Horror since the whole time travel ordeal began, but this was about enough to tip him right over the edge and into Absolute Terror.

"Wh-what does this mean? What's happened to it?!"

"It means that the timelines have changed," Graham told him, shaking his head. "That album doesn't exist any more, it's faded away. So that must mean..." Mark could anticipate what he was going to say, and hoped with all his heart that he wouldn't say it. "For some reason the band doesn't record it." He frowned. "Possibly because it doesn't form in the first place. How did it all start in your timeline?"

Mark described the audition with Nigel, at that horrible club in deepest, darkest Manchester. He left out the part where he immediately fell in love with the blond one with the awful fashion sense, instead telling him about Gary's tape, some of which then became the album in question. Graham listened, but didn't say anything.

"Okay, okay, let me think about this." Mark tapped the cassette box against his palm. "Right, these are Gary's songs, he wrote most of them specifically for the band when we first started. We're saying that, worst case, the band hasn't formed and therefore hasn't released this. The songs already exist somewhere in Gary's head, surely? He's still capable of writing them, even if it's not quite how it was before. He might've already recorded a couple of them ready for his meeting tonight."

"Sounds about right to me."

"So, if I can somehow get us back together as a band, then we can still release the album, yeah? And then everything should go back to normal if that happens, right? We don't need Nigel at all?"

"In theory," Graham said. He didn't sound all that confident, which was worrying. Graham wasn't the apprehensive type. "Of course, getting the band together as a unit should be quite simple: all you have to do is find everyone and convince them to go into music as a group. If your friendship comes naturally, that should be a walk in the park for you. The difficult part will come when you have to get the record contact."

"That's true," Mark said, thoughtfully. "I mean, it's not as if we can walk into Simon Cowell's office and get him to sign us up."

"...Who?"

~

It had been hot when he had arrived in 1989, and it was even hotter at one-thirty in the morning when he was trying to manoeuvre Gary through the front door without being detected.

Mark had used Gary's key to open it, fishing it out of his pocket whilst simultaneously propping him up with his other arm. He wasn't that heavy, but he was awkward to hold upright. Graham had opted to stay in the car, apparently in case his big feet made too much noise and woke the family up. Mark told him he was a spineless git, but Graham didn't seem to mind. In fact, he almost seemed to find the situation quite funny (apart from the whole messing with the space/time continuum thing).

Mark tried to tiptoe through the house, praying that they wouldn't bump into any of the Barlows on their way to the loo or anything. Maybe, he thought to himself as he hauled Gary along the hallway, they'd think they were dreaming. Or maybe they'd think he had broken in and chloroformed Gary as he tried to stop Mark nicking their telly. That would be the worst outcome, especially considering that at least a third of it was true. Was it still breaking in if you used a key?

His memory was failing him somewhat. Mark hadn't been in the house for a very long time, and, although he'd spent quite a lot of his formative years in Gary's bedroom, he hadn't paid that much attention to the layout of the place. After a good ten minutes of struggling to silently drag Gary through the house, he finally arrived in what he hoped was the right room. He didn't really fancy bursting in on Colin and Marge tucked up in bed, pulling their unconscious younger son along with him.

Judging by the amount of musical equipment Mark tripped over on the way to Gary's bed, it was _definitely_ his bedroom. He folded back the duvet and plonked Gary on top of it, before stopping to think what to do about his clothes. Stripping him wouldn't be that weird, would it? Mark wasn't sure. They'd undressed one another hundreds of times, but that was with _his_ Gary, who he'd been with for two decades, not the Gary who hadn't met him before tonight.

So Mark covered him over and left him there, twitching a little as Graham's special potion started to wear off. He hurried back out to the hallway, going over the plan in his head: get out of the house and back into the car where Graham was waiting for him, without being detected. When he got to the front door, however, he paused.

Something in Mark made him turn around and go back into the bedroom. Gary had moved onto his left side, one arm stretched out in front of him whilst the other was over his face, clutching the pillow. He looked so peaceful, and Mark tried to forget about the whole chloroforming thing. It was like he was asleep.

Mark padded across the room and stroked Gary's cheek. He might not have been anything to Gary, but to Mark, Gary was everything. It didn't matter what year he was from or how old he was or anything like that. Gary was Gary, he always would be, and Mark would always love him.

Not wanting to wake him up but unable to stop himself, Mark bent down and brushed his lips against Gary's forehead. As he straightened up and went to leave the room, he was sure that he saw him smile.

~

"Do you see a pair of long-nosed pliers anywhere? I think they've got a yellow handle."

Mark wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and started looking through Graham's oversized toolbox. There were hundreds of pairs of pliers in there, most of them with yellow handles and several with noses which Mark would describe as 'long'. He extracted the most likely candidates and passed them to Graham, who didn't reject them. Mark was relieved, although truth be told he didn't care about the pliers, he just wanted to go to bed.

They had been working on the damn car for two solid hours, and Mark was exhausted. More exhausted than he was after a five night run at Wembley, or after joining Gary on one of his Saturday morning jogs. Graham, on the other hand, was fizzing with excitement. Although he claimed to be solely concerned about getting Mark back to the future, he kept going on about how much he enjoyed the challenge and how he couldn't wait to put the time machine together over the next twenty-three years or so.

Mark wasn't quite so enthusiastic, but he had to admit there was a deep sense of pride when he heard the Datsun slip from gear to gear with no crunching at all. He had done most of that, and not all of it to the soundtrack of himself swearing. Some of it, yes, but not all. Apart from when he'd caught his head on the corner of the bonnet - there had been a lot of swearing, then, and a lot of hopping around on one foot, clutching the wound.

"That's the car fixed," Graham said, rolling out from under it and wiping his hands. He looked up at Mark. "The problem now is that I'm still not fully sure about how the time machine components operate, and that'll take some more work to figure out."

"How much more work?" Mark asked as he helped Graham to his feet. "Hours, days, months? ...Years?"

"Oh no, not years. Days, maybe. I have to find out how to fuel it, then how to get it to work in the opposite direction – that is, send you forwards rather than backwards. It shouldn't be too difficult, but I'm not making any promises. I'll do my best, though."

"Yeah, that would be great. In the meantime, we've got the Take That issue to sort out."

"Mmm, I think you should focus on working that out, and I'll get on with this. Stick to our strengths, eh? Speaking of which, now I want to jack the car up properly and take a good look at how it's all connected under there. I'm not even sure if the time machine _is_ connected to the underneath, but I don't see any other way of doing it. I wish I had the finished blueprints, but I obviously haven't made them, yet, and I doubt my future self bothered to leave any sort of useful notes in the car..."

They worked for another half an hour or so, but it was getting far too late. Graham was so tired that he kept dropping things, Mark could barely keep his eyes open, and the pair of them were fumbling over their words. They agreed to go to bed and work on getting things done in the morning.

Things were always brighter in the morning.

~

Mark woke in the middle of the night and sat bolt upright, sweating. His whole body was drenched and he felt like he was going to melt - the thick covers had to go before he liquefied to death in the spare room.

He swung his legs over to the side of the bed and put his feet on the floor, expecting to feel soft shagpile carpet between his toes. Instead, he felt slightly moist grass.

"What the..."

Well, that wasn't right.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he found himself a field of sorts. He poked at the bed underneath him – it felt fairly solid, but then so did the grass beneath his feet. The lamp was still on and emitting a faint glow, as it had been all night, but wasn't doing a spectacular job of lighting up the room.

"Graham?" he called, to no response. "Hello?"

Total silence. Even when he got up and started walking Mark couldn't hear anything, not the rush of air past his ears, not his bare feet on the floor/grass, nothing.

"What the..." he said again, spinning around in a circle to try and see if there were any signs of life around him. On his third turn, he saw that his bed had disappeared, too. "Oh great, that's fucking fabulous."

It was a dream, he knew that much. He wasn't stupid. But his dreams weren't normally this vivid. There had been a few times during his dark days, where he'd woken up in a cold sweat after envisioning something awful happening to him, or (worse) to someone he loved. There'd been a particularly bad couple of nights where he'd had the most horrendous nightmares, but Gary had been there to comfort him and keep him going.

Now though, he was totally alone and nobody was going to come and hold him, nobody was going to stroke his hair until the nightmare had passed. He had to sort this out by himself.

He pinched himself, hard, and then again, harder still. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. He stamped his feet. He sat on the ground and waited for a long time. He shouted at himself to wake up, or at least dream of something more interesting than a room of nothing but a bit of grass.

Nothing.

What kind of a dream was this? It was stupid. Normally there was some kind of clue, something in his waking life creeping in and showing him the way, but this was just a vast, empty wasteland, without a single person or a building in sight, and it was depressing as hell. At least in his nightmares there had been demons to quash, dragons to slay, obstacles to hurdle. They'd been hard to suffer through but there had been a bloody point to them.

Mark stood up again, deciding that he might as well do something rather than sit there and wait for his body to catch up with his brain and wake up. He knew he wouldn't be stuck there forever, but if this was the sort of dream that seemed to go on forever, he didn't want to just sit on his arse and wait for it to stop.

He started walking, not sure where he was going but not caring, either. It didn't seem to matter all that much anyway, because whichever way he went, he ended up back in the same place. Or maybe it wasn't, but everything looked the same so how was he supposed to know what was going on?

After walking for a ages and never seeming to get anywhere, Mark gave up. Even though it was only a dream, his feet were sore and his legs were aching, and he wanted to have a sit down to get his breath back. As he plonked himself down on the damp grass, he noticed that it was a rather alarming shade of pink. There were little clumps of daisies scattered around the place, most of them blue instead of white, the rest a violent lime green. He shrugged and started picking them, which just seemed like the right thing to do.

When he plucked one, another grew in its place, only the second was much harder to pull out than the first. He tugged and tugged at one for a good minute, but in the end decided to go for a daisy that put up less of a fight. There seemed to be an endless supply of the things, so he didn't feel quite as guilty about killing them, and he really didn't have the energy to get into an argument with a flower, particularly because they weren't real.

He was quite merrily getting on with his task when he felt a sudden rush of air, and looked up to see someone waving at him from a slight distance away. He couldn't quite make out who it was, but it didn't make him feel nervous. In fact he was quite pleased about having some company at last, instead of the lonely dreamland he'd been stuck in so far.

"What're you doing, Mark?"

Mark smiled. He wasn't surprised to see him, as he normally showed up in his dreams at some point, and it was a relief because it proved that some things were still the same no matter where he was.

"Just picking flowers these flowers, Gaz."

Without questioning it, Gary sat down next to him and started to do the same, selecting the nicest looking daisies and beginning to make them into a chain. It was the 2012 version of Gary, dressed in striped pyjamas and a bowler hat (which was very fetching, and Mark filed it away as something to mention when he got back to the right time).

"This is a weird place," Gary said, reaching over to grab a daisy that had just sprung up.

"Yeah. I can't say I'm loving it, but I'm glad to see you, though."

"You know I'm not really here, don't you? You know it's a dream?"

"Yeah, of course." Mark pointed to a daisy next to Gary's foot (which were clad in a pair of bright pink bunny slippers). "That's a nice one there, you should put that in next."

They sat in silence for awhile, both concentrating hard on what they were doing. No matter how many flowers they added or how badly they did it, the chains didn't get any longer or heavier, and they never seemed to break.

"Do you think you should wake up?"

Mark shrugged. "Eventually I suppose I'll have to, I can't sleep forever. Bit of a change from what's going on in real life at the moment, although that all feels a bit like a dream in itself."

"Must be weird, this time-travel stuff. Is it confusing?"

"Very. I have to make sure I don't say the wrong thing to the wrong person, or be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or screw things up any more than I have done already. It's fucking with my head, to be honest with you."

"How're you doing, in general?"

"M'okay," Mark said. He put his flowers out in front of him, grouping them into colours for no reason other than it was something to do, and it felt right. Their knees knocked together as he moved, and it was extremely comforting - Dream Gary felt just as solid and dependable as real Gary did. "Okay as I can be, anyway."

"I meant... You don't feel like drinking or anything?" Gary asked, looking and sounding more serious than Mark had seen him in a very long time.

"Nope," Mark said, honestly. "I could do with a glass of water, maybe, but that's about it."

This seemed to satisfy dream-Gary. "I worry about you, even after everything. I know it's not going to happen again, that you wouldn't put yourself through it, but it still worries the bloody life out of me."

"You don't need to worry, Gaz. I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"Glad to hear it." He held out his completed daisy chain for Mark to see, smiling as he peered at him through the hole in the middle. "Think I should make it a bit longer, or is okay as it is?" he asked, ever the perfectionist.

"Depends on who it's for, doesn't it?"

"You, of course."

"In that case I'd say it's fine the way it is. I'm only small."

"C'mere then, let me try it on you..."

Gary crawled over to behind Mark and placed the chain around his neck, fiddling about with it for a moment before declaring that it was done. He didn't move when he was finished, though, keeping his hands on Mark's shoulders and squeezing them gently.

"It's so good to see you, Gaz, I feel like I've been away for years."

Gary chuckled, his breath warm against Mark's ear, and Mark felt his anxieties melting away. "It's only been one night! What about when I went away for the Jubilee song? I was gone for weeks."

"Yeah, but I could talk to you on the phone, then."

"You can see me in the flesh right now, all you have to do is go to my old house and I'll be there, hunched over my lyric book or polishing a pedal."

Mark shook his head and the daisies around his neck moved with him, tickling his skin.

"It's not the same."

"Either way, you should wake up soon, love."

Mark sighed and leaned back against Gary, not wanting this bit of the dream to end. "I know."

"You do _want_ to get back home, don't you?"

"Yeah, 'course I do."

"Come home to me, Markie."

At once, Mark felt himself getting sleepy. He felt Gary move away, and then he was on his back in the damp grass, alone once again. He was clutching the daisy chain he'd been making, Gary's completed one still hanging around his neck. It was still brushing against his skin, tickling him to the point of annoyance now, but he couldn't move to scratch or take it off. His limbs felt like lead, his head was spinning wildly, his eyes were closing of their own accord...

When he opened them again he was back in bed in the spare bedroom in Graham's house.

Mark turned over and went straight back to sleep, and didn't have any more dreams after that.


	5. For The Cause

~

Mark awoke at the crack of dawn. Not that he'd really been sleeping.

Graham's spare room was pleasant enough, but the homemade alarm clock had ticked relentlessly, and the lamp that was supposed to automatically switch itself off once the room's occupant was in bed had stayed on all night, penetrating his eyelids and making it impossible to shut off properly.

The dream - what he could remember of it, anyway - hadn't helped either. Something to do with flowers, he thought. Gary had been there, Mark knew that much, but he usually was so that wasn't a great help. It was all just a weird, confusing blur, and Mark really couldn't spend too long thinking about it. There were so many things he needed to do before he had any hope of going back to 2012, and he had no idea what to do about any of them.

Finding the lads was the first step – but where would they be? Mark had stared up at the ceiling for ages before falling asleep, trying to remember where the rest of the boys had been working before they'd joined the band. He wasn't all that clear on their individual pasts, so much of it had been made up or changed for PR reasons. Mark was fairly sure that Jason had been a painter and decorator, but he had no idea where. He had a vague recollection of Howard working in a garage or something very similar. And Rob had still been in school when they first met. But which school? And where?

And what about his past self? He'd been working in the bank so he'd be easy enough to find, but it wasn't as if he'd be able to march in there and announce his presence, not without wearing a balaclava (which was never a good idea in a bank).

Mark covered his face with his hands and groaned. This was going to be _impossible_.

There was also the small matter of finding a new manager. Unless he went back and begged Nigel to give them a chance of course, but Mark wasn't willing to do that, except as a last resort. It would have to be the absolute, definite, dead last thing he could think of, and even then someone would have to push him into that office, kicking and screaming.

There had to be more than one manager in the area, and Mark was determined to find them. Whoever they were, however knowledgeable or proficient, they had to be better than Nigel and his bloody stupid _Ten Golden Rules For Boyband Success._ Very few of those had worked in their favour.

With everything racing through his mind, Mark sat up, stretched until his bones all clicked, and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

"Sleep well?" Graham asked, without turning around. He was busy making coffee and Mark wanted to kiss him.

"Sort of, but your lamp thing doesn't work, mate," Mark said, yawning as he sat down at the table. "It stayed on all night and I couldn't find a switch or a plug or anything."

"No, you wouldn't do, it doesn't have one. That'd be a bit pointless, considering it's meant to be automatic. Coffee?"

Before Mark could answer, Graham pushed a steaming mug into his hands.

"Cheers." Mark took a sip. He wasn't sure what heaven tasted like, but he was sure this was close. "Good coffee. Did you make it yourself?"

"Yep, by my own fair hand. I don't trust coffee machines; they don't tend to produce a high quality product, not compared to doing it yourself. You might as well just use instant coffee if you're going to go down that route. Although saying that, I've got this idea for a machine that would revolutionise c-"

"No!" Mark interrupted. "Don't you dare, that bloody thing tried to kill me! But I'll spare you the details in case it affects the timelines." He took another gulp of coffee. "Although that wouldn't be such a bad thing, in that particular case. This is good stuff though, just goes to show you don't always need technology to do something well. Hey, speaking of technology, I don't suppose you've got a computer?"

"Of _course_ I've got a computer, Mark. Who do you think I am? I'm a _scientist_!"

"Is it connected to the internet?" Mark took Graham's silence to mean no. He sighed. "Have you got the Yellow Pages, then?"

Over breakfast, Mark scoured the telephone directory. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but it seemed like a good place to start. _Record Company_ was his first attempt, and when it failed to produce the goods, he went for _Band Managers_ and then _Music Producers_. Still nothing. Out of desperation he started flicking through it at random, opening the book every few pages and running his finger down the numbers, hoping he'd find the magic one.

"Fuck's sake," he muttered to himself. Graham was out in the garage again, inspecting the car. "How difficult can it be to find a record contract in 1989?"

Very difficult, it was turning out. What he really needed was a contact, someone already in the business. If he could do that, they might know of someone who might know of someone  whose boyfriend's sister's husband was a record producer. If he didn't want to help, they could beg him to give them some names of others who might. But without that first stepping stone, it was pointless. The only person Mark knew who was definitely in the business in 1989 was Nigel and, as he'd already decided, there was no way he was asking for _his_ advice. It was a bit late for that, in any event.

Mark sighed and slammed the book shut, defeated. He finished his slice of freezing cold, rock hard toast, slipped his jacket on and wandered out into the little garden. It wasn't much more than a small patch of grass, but being outside often gave Mark a different perspective on things. Usually he'd have a cigarette in his hand, though. They always helped him to think.

He could hear Graham knocking about in the garage, talking to himself using words that Mark couldn't even pronounce, let alone understand.

Mark sat down on a bench, the light drizzle not bothering him in the slightest what with the other things he had to worry about. He wanted to go home. He wanted his house and his car and his fucking _life_ back. More than that, he wanted Gary. Normally he could always turn to Gary if things were going wrong, but now he felt as if he was alone. Sure, he technically had a Gary just up the road, but he wasn't the same. He hadn't matured into the Gary that Mark knew and had come to love over the years.

What if he never saw him again? Mark tried not to cry. He was much too old for that sort of thing, and it was stupid to get so upset about something that, although difficult, could be fixed. If he got himself all stressed out, he might not be able to think straight enough to get back home, and that just wouldn't do. So he had to muster up every last ounce of strength, and keep himself calm, at least until he'd exhausted every possible solution, after which he'd give himself full permission to have a panic attack.

"Mark?"

Graham loomed in the doorway of the garage, beckoning for Mark to join him. As Mark heaved himself to his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets and head bowed against the now rather heavy rain, Graham disappeared back into the gloom. He was already under the car again as Mark entered the garage. Mark kicked one of the feet that was poking out, and Graham slid out into view and stood up.

"I can see most of the components of the time machine, but they're badly burnt and just a complete mess, really. I think the actual time travel part involves an explosion of some sort, and the components and all of the circuitry got destroyed when you set the whole thing off."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that it's going to take quite awhile for me to get it back up and running - I'll have to take the whole thing out, replace all the ruined parts, fix all the other bits, and refit it all back into the car. It could take days, weeks even. In the meantime, you'll have to stay here. You can't leave this house in case you interact with anybody else."

Although he saw Graham's point, there was no way Mark was going to agree to it. He had to go out, he had to get things back to how they were supposed to be. What about the band? What about his relationship? If he didn't go out and sort things out, he could kiss goodbye to his normal life, and there was absolutely no way he was going to let that happen, not without doing his very best to get it sorted first.

"Sorry mate," he said. "But I've got to at least try get things back to roughly how they should be, I'd never be able to live with myself if I didn't do my best."

"Mark, you know I can't let you do that. So many things could go wrong, it's too dangerous."

Mark shrugged. "I don't care. I messed things up for myself and my friends, and I'm going to damn well fix it even if it kills me."

"It may well do!" Graham cried, brandishing the screwdriver he was holding. He always did that when he was agitated about something, and normally it was quite amusing (if a trifle dangerous). "And even if it doesn't, it could have terrible repercussions for yourself, for me, for the others! What if one of them remembers you from today and has a nervous breakdown in the future? Or shuns you? What if it creates some sort of paradox? I know being in your band means an awful lot to you, and I know I was on board with it at first, but surely you can see that it's not a sensible idea? It's just too risky, for all involved."

"No it isn't!" Mark felt himself getting annoyed. He knew Graham meant well, but this was his life he was dealing with. He wasn't going to let it slip away from him because some mad scientist with a dodgy hairstyle told him to, even though he was his mate and he loved him to the ends of the earth and back again. "What's too risky is _not_ doing it, okay? I'm not even talking about the band, because if that didn't happen it'd be a shame, but I'd live with it. The music, the fame, even the money... I'd say goodbye to all of that in a heartbeat. But not being with Gary... that's something I can't even imagine, it hurts too much to even think about it. Don't do this to me, mate, please. Don't try and stop me, just let me do what I need to."

"Mark, I can't..."

"No, I'm not going to let you argue on this one," Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, I love Gaz more than anyone in the entire world, and he loves me, and we've got plans, we've got a future. I'd be an idiot if I didn't do everything in my power to make sure that all still happens one way or another. I fucked it all up and now I have to put it back to how it should be, and I don't care how long it takes or what I have to do to make things right. You'll understand one day, believe me."

Graham put his screwdriver down with a clang, and his hands went straight to his hips. "I do believe you, Mark. I genuinely do. But you don't seem to be listening, so I'll say it one more time: it's not safe for you to leave this house, and I would be doing you a disservice if I were to let you do so. Anything could happen, and then what? You mess things up even more, to a point where we don't have a hope in hell of sorting things out again? No, it's not happening. You can't leave, and that's final."

Determined to get his way, Mark pulled himself up to his full height, and stared Graham straight in the neck. "I'm going. And _that_ is final."

In the end, and after much further angry debate, Graham conceded to let Mark go out – with the proviso that he did so in disguise.

~

They'd argued about the shoes for the best part of an hour, and in the end, Graham had won. How he'd won wasn't very fair, given he was ten times Mark's size and could easily pin him down and force them on his feet if he'd needed to.

Walking down the street, pushing the old bicycle he'd found in a dusty corner of Graham's garage, Mark caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window and had to stop and stare at how utterly absurd he looked. He didn't remember the fashion being so bad, it hadn't seemed that way in his twenties.

The bright blue jeans were bad enough, but they weren't helped at all by the ridiculously loud shirt that Graham had insisted on. When Mark had complained that it was about ten sizes too big, he'd been reminded that it was 'the fashion' and had a baseball cap jammed onto his head.

Mark felt stupid. He hadn't done, back when he was actually there and the right age for it, and they thought they were cool as hell when in reality they all looked like they'd got dressed in the dark. All that was missing from his current ensemble was an oversized wooly jumper. The wardrobe department had always been particularly keen on sticking him in them, even when it was a million degrees outside. Graham, fortunately, had not thought to provide him with one, but had produced a thin bomber jacket and pressed it into Mark's hands as he'd opened the front door.

"I didn't really wear this kind of thing, did I?" he mumbled to his reflection, pulling sharply at the collar of the shirt, trying to get it to behave. Then he glared down at his feet, which were definitely the worst. "White trainers... I haven't worn white trainers for years. I'm much too old for this."

Nineties fashion. Mark was very glad that all of that was in his past. Clothes were better in 2012, when everything fitted perfectly and nothing was worn backwards. It all made so much more sense, although at the time so had the nineties.

Mark thought back to some of his favourite outfits of recent years, the ones that the others enjoyed mocking. The ones they laughed at the hardest always tended to be his favourites. His glorious floaty pink shirt, the poncho he'd worn at the BRITs, that brown silk scarf with the floral pattern, the hats - oh, what he'd do for one of his trilbies right now!

But nobody was wearing trilby, and he had to fit in with the crowd, no matter how daft he felt. A teenage boy walked past wearing a baseball cap, which looked fine on him but made Mark whip his off and stuff it into the pocket of his jacket. He'd had quite enough of caps in his youth, and only put it on in the first place because Graham had insisted. Unless it was a life or death situation, he'd resolved to never put another on his head. As soon as they'd gone out of style the first time around he'd realised how stupid they looked on him, and what they'd done to his hair.

Not that Mark remembered much about the early nineties. Most of it had been spent in nightclubs - either up on stage dancing, drinking his worries away with Rob, or snogging Gary as openly as they dared. They were the important memories that he wanted to keep locked away forever, lest he should need to relive them. Sweating themselves to death on slippery stages, having ridiculous drinking competitions that ran into the small hours, dark corners and wandering hands - they were what he wanted to remember when he was at a low. His clothes, although life threateningly important at the time, weren't at the forefront of his memory any more, and he was glad about that.

Staring at himself in the deserted shop's grimy window, however, brought it all flooding back. Suddenly he was staring into the mirror before a gig, admiring how great his style was and hoping the magazines would agree (they would). Then he'd normally feel a pair of arms circling his waist and attempting to pull his jumper off, and they'd be late for sound check.

He tried to tuck the shirt into the jeans, but that made it even worse - short, and chunky around the middle. Mark was very defensive of his middle, especially since the night Gary gave it an affectionate pat as he got into bed. He hadn't done it in a mean way, he probably hadn't even realised he'd done it, but ever since then Mark had been self-conscious about developing any sort of paunch.

After he'd had enough of hating his appearance, Mark hopped on the bike and started the journey to Gary's house. It was only when he was halfway there that he had some doubts. What was he supposed to say? What if Gary wasn't there? Would his family be willing to help find him? On the phone it had been alright, but a forty year old man turning up and asking for your eighteen year old son was bound to look a bit dodgy. He went through possible scenarios in his head, trying to work out a way to see Gary without sounding like a predator, or a complete lunatic.

It was a good way to pass the time though, having imaginary conversations with whoever should open the Barlow household's front door. It took a long time to cycle to Gary's house (in the rain), and not only was Mark was out of breath when he arrived, he was no closer to knowing what he was going to say. There wasn't much for him to do about that now, so he'd have to wing it, as he often did. He worked best under pressure, sometimes.

Mark propped the bike against the wall and went to knock on the door.

Thankfully, it was Gary who opened it. He had a sandwich in his hand. It was filled with chips and smelled delicious.

"Yes?"

"Gary..." Mark tore his eyes away from Gary's chip buttie, scarcely able to believe he was holding it, let alone planning on eating it. "Er, I don't know if you remember me - we met last night at the Clocktower pub after your gig? Only for about an hour or so. I gave you a lift in my Datsun? And your keyboard, that was in the back."

If his expression was anything to go by, Gary didn't remember any of this and was desperately trying to. He peered at Mark curiously as if, somewhere in the very back of his mind, he had some vague recollection of the night before. That was a start. Graham had told Mark about this, that Gary wouldn't remember and would have to be reminded. Damn fake chloroform...

"No, I don't remember that. If I'm honest I don't remember the gig, or how I got home, or anything at all about last night. My mind's a bit fuzzy in general, actually." He frowned. "Sorry, who are you again?"

"I'm Mark. Can I come inside? I need to talk to you and it's too delicate to do it on the doorstep... Plus, it's pissing it down out here."

To his great surprise, Gary stepped aside and let him past. The house was quiet, and Mark made his way into the living room, settling himself down in what had always been _his place_ on the sofa.

"Wow, it's like you've been here before."

"I have," Mark told him. And then he went over everything all over again, making sure to apologise for the chloroform, explaining that they hadn't wanted him to remember but now they did. He didn't leave anything out, not even the things he probably shouldn't have mentioned last night. It all felt too important.

When Mark finished relaying the whole tale, Gary glanced down at his chip buttie and sighed.

"I wondered why I wasn't enjoying this as much as I normally do, thought I was coming down with something I picked up at the club. I guess that explains it, doesn't it?" He put it back on the plate on the coffee table, and pushed it far away from him. "The bells are ringing, now you've told me all of that. You don't seem the type to make stuff up, and it does sound like something I'd believe." He looked Mark up and down. "So, what do you want now?"

"I need us to get the band together, as soon as physically possible. Do you remember your meeting with Nigel?"

Gary shook his head. "Not really, but I didn't wake up this morning with a record contract clutched between my fingers, so I assumed I didn't get it. It happens." He shrugged. "But that's okay. There's a couple of others who showed an interest, and I guess I'll set up a meeting with one of them instead, when my head stops spinning. It doesn't have to be Nigel, he was just the first to bite and I jumped at the chance."

So, the easy part would be even easier. That didn't make Mark as happy as he thought it would.

"And you'll get them to put out an advert for the band, right? So the others can apply and come to the audition?"

Gary face was sheepish, and he didn't say anything until Mark gave his ribs a not-so-gentle nudge with his elbow. "I wasn't planning on suggesting it, no."

"What?! Why not?"

"I sort figured I'd be alright doing it all on my own, no offence to you or whoever those other guys are-"

"Jason, Howard, and Rob."

"Right, them. No offence to you guys, but I'd like to try a solo career. It's what I've always dreamed of, see. I reckon I could be like Elton John, some day. He's my hero, he's the one. I couldn't ever be as big as him, obviously, but if I could achieve even a tiny fraction of what he has, and have just a smidgen of his success, then I'd die happy. Everyone's always told me I'll get there, and I've always believed them. And I want to do it by myself."

Mark felt his life slipping away from him again.

"No, that's not going to work!" he cried. Gary's face fell. Mark hated to be the one to break it to him, but he had to, for his own good more than anything else. "I'm sorry Gaz, but the whole solo thing? It's not as good. We're best in a group, I promise you. You'll understand, someday. Or maybe you won't. But please believe me, you're a band member, not a solo star. You might have some success, but nothing like it could be."

"But the first time I met him, Nigel said he was impressed with my stuff. He kept going on about how great it was, and how he'd make me a star, and how I was going to make us both rich."

"I know, but if things had played out as they should've yesterday, he would've decided to build a boyband around you, mate. That's the way it went, it's the way it's supposed to be. It's not that you're not good enough; it's just that we're better together. You need to trust me on this, Gaz. It doesn't matter, I promise you. If we pull this off, it'll work out better than you could ever hope for. Plus, you'll have the rest of us to lean on when times get hard, which they will. I know it's hard to accept, but it's all true. I wouldn't lie to you, I promised you that yesterday."

Gary stared at him, and Mark could tell he was thinking it over. It was a big ask for him to accept whatever this crazy bloke said, especially as said crazy bloke had admitted to being from the future, and to chloroforming him the night before. But as the cogs turned in Gary's brain, he seemed to accept his fate. Maybe that's what it was. Mark had never been entirely sure if he believed in fate, or karma, or anything like it, but now it felt like a realistic option.

"Okay," he said. "If that's the way it's got to be. I'll be in a _boyband_." Gary frowned as he tested the word out. He clearly wasn't happy about it, but he'd agreed, and that was enough for now.

Unable to stop himself, Mark leaned over and pulled Gary into his arms, immediately aware of how odd it felt, like he wasn't hugging Gary at all. It might've been the same person, but it was different, not quite right. He released him quickly, feeling ashamed of himself - the poor lad must've been terrified, and quite rightly so.

"Sorry, old habit." Mark scratched the back of his head, sheepishly. "You'll have to get used to it though – we're a touchy feely band, lots of hugs and kisses and random games of pile-on, whether you like it or not."

"I think I'll manage," Gary said. He was smiling, with a hint of pink tinging his cheeks. "Are we really together? A couple, I mean?"

"Yes, but if a crazy guy with white hair asks, I didn't tell you, okay?"

"Oh, of course. I suppose you're not meant to reveal too much about my future, are you? Like in the films?"

"No, not really. But in this case it was unavoidable. Now, let's go and start a boyband."


	6. Just Act Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I was at the O2 over the weekend seeing a certain boyband ;) Been in a bit of a daze ever since...

~

They decided to catch a train to Wythenshawe, hoping to bump into Jason by chance. It was a long shot, and a long journey, but they had to start somewhere. Wythenshawe couldn't be all that big, surely? It had been a long time since Mark had been through it, and Gary never had, so between the two of them they didn't have that much to go on.

He consulted the map. It looked as if they were going to need to take a bus as well, and it would take them half the bloody afternoon to get there - forty minutes on the train, then forty minutes on the bus. Mark checked his watch and groaned quietly; every second that ticked by was utterly terrifying.

"What does Jason do?" Gary asked, as they settled into their seats.

"Around this time he was an apprentice painter and decorator, doing up some of the posh houses around town, or at least trying to. And he did a lot of dancing, even on the telly every now and then, which he was proud of."

"What's he like?"

"Jay? Oh, he's great. Really clever, more brains than the rest of us put together. He can be quite serious sometimes, likes to take his time to think things through and come to his decision. But underneath it all he's just a lovely, funny bloke. You and him make each other laugh all the time. Sometimes in the nineties he used to dread working with you, although he got over it pretty quickly when we got back together. It was probably Nigel's fault 'cause he favoured you over us lot, and Jason just took the brunt of it because Nigel didn't like him very much at all,  and the feeling was mutual. It's just something to watch out for, but it shouldn't be so much of an issue with Nigel not being around." Mark paused. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, so feel free to immediately forget everything I've just said."

As Gary was about to reply, the train pulled into the station. They disembarked and headed in the direction of the nearest bus stop, Mark trying to get his bearings and Gary keeping quiet whilst he concentrated. He wasn't so worried about getting into Wythenshawe: that looked fairly simple. All they needed was to get the number 43 and get off when it got to the town centre.

The problem was what to do when they got there.

Mark spent the entire bus ride thinking about it, ashamed that he didn't know enough about Jason's past before the band, and made a pact with himself to sit down with the 2012 version and have a very long talk about it all. But until then, they needed to concentrate on 1989 Jason, and that was tricky. Mark didn't even know where to start. Jason had never gone into much detail about his time as a decorator, he'd mostly gone on and on ( _and on_ , Howard said) about his dancing instead. Mark didn't know where he'd worked, or for who, or for how long, and he didn't think that watching an episode of _The Hitman and Her_ would do them any good.

The bus drew up alongside their stop and they stood up to get off, Mark's brain still whirring at a mile a minute as he tried to work out their next steps. They had to track Jason down somehow. As they waited for people to step down onto the pavement ahead of them, Mark looked at Gary. How had he found him in the first place?

And then he remembered.

"The phonebook!" he shouted, nearly causing an old woman to drop her shopping. "Sorry love. Gary, c'mon!"

Grabbing him by the wrist, Mark dragged Gary off the bus and down the street until he found a telephone box. Once they were both squished inside, Mark started flipping through the book. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gary silently watching him, looking quite bewildered about the whole thing. Mark tried to ignore him - stopping to explain what his plan was would mean slowing down the whole operation, and there really wasn't time for that.

"Orange... Orange..." Mark ran his finger down the page until he found the right listing, tapping it firmly lest it should get away from him. "Did he still live with his mum when we met? Fuck, I'm not sure." Mark slipped a couple of coins into the slot, and jabbed at the keypad. "I'll try it anyway, she might be able to tell us where he is."

The phone rang and rang, and Mark was just about to give up hope when there was a click, a crackle, and then a man's voice: "Hello?"

"Jason?"

"No, this is Justin. Sorry, he's not here right now."

Mark had forgotten how similar they sounded. Still, if Justin could help...

"Right, sorry. This is a friend of his – Mark. I really need to speak to Jay about something urgent. Do you know if he's at work?"

"He will be at the moment, but he's due to get off in half an hour or so." Justin told him. "He normally goes out for a curry with some of his mates from the site afterwards, you might catch him there if you're lucky. They go to Raja's, on the high street. Do you know it?"

They were standing about twenty yards from it, as it happened. Mark could've done a little jump for joy - things were looking up.

"Yep, I know it. Thanks so much, Justin." He was about to add _say hello to the rest of the family for me_ out of habit, but remembered himself before he did. "Have a good evening," he said instead, hanging up.

Mark couldn't leave the telephone box until Gary did, and he waited until they were both outside before he shared the good news. Gary didn't look as pleased as Mark had hoped, but he supposed Gary didn't have the same sense of urgency that he did, and was probably only going along with it to appease him.

"What do we say to him, though?"

"Er, _we_?" Mark, who had been about to start crossing the road to the restaurant, stopped in his tracks and turned around. "No, it's got to be you, Gaz, you have to be the one to convince him. I can't talk to him, I can't even meet him! It might disrupt the-"

"I know, I know: disrupt the timeline. Don't you think it's fairly disrupted already? What will it hurt if you're standing next to me, though? You don't need to tell him who you are or anything, just please don't make me do this on my own!"

Gary stared at him, his wide eyes pleading, and Mark felt himself melting on the spot. Dammit, why did he always succumb so easily? Graham often said that Mark was a complete and total pushover when it came to Gary, and Mark could see what he was getting at, now. He nodded all the same, promising to help as much as he could when the moment arrived, although what he promised and what he could actually do were two very different things. He'd do his best to help Gary out, though. He always did. It was a weakness.

After ninety minutes of waiting outside the restaurant (trying not to look suspicious), Jason arrived. He was with two other blokes, both older than him, and Mark reminded himself that he'd only turned nineteen the month before. His hair was longer than Mark remembered - most of his memories of Jason from the early nineties were clouded with clip-on fringes and mohawks. Not one of his best looks; even Jason admitted that, despite thinking he looked dead good at the time.

"That's him," Mark muttered, attempting to covertly point him out. "The one with the dark hair, in the middle. Blue t-shirt, jeans."

"Right. What now?"

Mark hadn't planned this far ahead, and didn't really know how to respond to that.

"Er... I suppose we just go in, say we need to speak to him privately about something important that really can't wait, and go from there."

"What if he doesn't want to talk to us?"

"Then we panic. C'mon," Mark pushed the door open and motioned for Gary to go in first, "let's get this over with."

The restaurant was a nice enough place, with all the stereotypical decor of a nineties British curry house, and all of the aromas. Mark was acutely aware of how hungry he was, having not eaten anything since the cold toast that morning, and when they were offered a table for two he found himself accepting without a second thought.

"I didn't know we were eating," Gary said, peering at the menu nonetheless. "Are you paying?"

"I don't know if I can." Mark felt the panic start to rise, mostly alarmed at how familiar it felt. "What if my money isn't accepted? Technically I haven't applied for my credit card yet, what with me being only-"  he counted on his fingers "-seventeen, I think, in this year. Have you got any cash on you? I promise I'll pay you back in about twenty-three years."

For a split second, Gary looked as if he was about to argue with that, but he didn't. Instead, he laughed. It was the first time Mark had heard him laugh all day, and indeed the first time he'd heard this particular Gary laugh properly since they'd met.

"Alright, fair enough. I'll hold you to that, though, and I don't forget when it comes to money."

"No, I'm aware of that."

They ordered, they ate, and Mark kept one eye on Jason at all times, paranoid that he'd get up and leave and they'd lose him forever. That would be just his luck: tracking him down no problem but struggling to keep hold of him. Mark hoped that through sheer willpower he could keep Jason there long enough to get him on board.

It seemed that Jason and his friends were in for the long haul, though. Mark and Gary were just about to start on dessert ("It's not dinner without dessert, Mark!") before their table had got halfway through their main course. Mark started to plan their attack.

"Once we've paid for this, we'll walk past their table casually, as if we're just on our way out," he said. "Then one of us - preferably you, - will stop and say, _'Oh, Jason, what're you doing here?!'_ , like he's a mate we haven't seen for ages and have just noticed in passing. Then we'll ask to speak to him outside, and once we've got him out there we'll somehow convince him to reply to the advert in the paper. The one that we really need to get sorted out sooner rather than later."

Gary licked the last drops of ice cream from his long spoon. "One problem," he said, pointing it at Mark. "What if he doesn't want to speak to us? What if he just tells us to bugger off and leave him alone? He'd be well within his rights, if we're honest."

It was a fair point, but that didn't mean Mark had to like it. And he didn't, not one bit.

"Okay, let me think." Mark thought. His brain was starting to feel very tired, like it was working overtime. "Got it: what about if we use Justin, instead? We say something like, _'Oh, Jason! We're really good friends with your brother! Can we have a quick word outside?'_ I'm sure he doesn't know all of Justin's friends, and with any luck he'll take the bait and go along with it. He's like that, our Jason is, he's very trusting, and in a good way."

"Alright. But if it goes wrong and I look like a tit..."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to that, mate."

Once the bill was paid (Gary winced as he opened his wallet), they both took deep breaths and started putting the plan into action. As nonchalantly as possible, they sauntered past Jason's table on their way to the door, chatting quietly and trying to act natural. Two steps later, Gary made a big show of stopping and asking Mark a whispered question, to which Mark shrugged and moved to carry on.

"No, wait a second, I'm sure it is..."

Gary turned around, pulling Mark with him, and went over to Jason. Mark could feel Gary's heart thumping through his arm, almost in time with his own.

"Excuse me - Jason?"

Jason had his beer glass pressed to his lips, and moved it away a couple of inches. "Yeah?"

"Hi, I'm Gary. This is..." Mark shot him a warning look, and he reconsidered. "This is my friend. Don't you remember us? We know your brother, Justin. We met him when we were at that party last year, erm, the one in..."

Gary was too nervous, stumbling over his words as he strayed away from the agreed script. Mark gave him a gentle nudge in the ribs to try get him back on track, and thankfully it worked.

"Can we have a quick word? It's important."

Jason raised his eyebrows. He was halfway through his meal, and Mark felt bad for a minute as he realised they were clearly dragging him away from his night out to relax with his mates. Ah well, he'd thank them for it later. Much, much later.

"Go on then," he said. That hadn't been expected. It was all well and good talking about this stuff with Jason, but in front of his friends? There was no way he'd even contemplate what they had to tell him if he was with them, and they both knew they had to get him on his own.

"No, outside? It's a bit delicate, see."

"Look, whatever my brother's done or said, or not done or not said, I'm not that interested, right? His business is his business, and I really prefer not to get involved with things that don't actually concern me. Just because we're twins, doesn't mean we do everything the same. I'm trying to eat here, lads."

"It's not your brother," Mark said, as the future began rapidly slipping through his fingers again. "It's you. We only need a couple of minutes – it really is important. Believe me, we wouldn't disturb you if it wasn't. Please?"

Jason sighed and pushed his chair back, telling his two dining companions that he'd be back once he'd sorted this out. Not wanting to draw this out any longer than they had to, Mark made for the front door, Gary not far behind. Neither of them checked to see if Jason was actually following, choosing instead to pray that he was.

The evening had turned pleasant, and Mark was grateful for the cool breeze blowing against his face as they stood in awkward silence on the pavement outside Raja's. He was sweating profusely, and, for the first time, he was almost glad of the overly baggy shirt Graham had provided.

He cleared his throat as Jason looked at them expectantly, arms folded and eyebrows raised. Gary had frozen entirely, and Mark knew it was all down to him until he thawed out.

"We're not friends with Justin," Mark admitted immediately, not wanting that that hanging over them on top of everything else. Best to be as honest as possible from the start, apart from anything to do with time travel, obviously. "Not really, anyway, and it'd be far too complicated for me to explain properly. I have met Justin, but we're not mates, exactly. And I'm very sorry we lied about all of that, but please just hear us out, okay? I promise we're not mental, and it really is important."

"I'm listening."

"Okay. Thank you. Now, I know this sounds completely insane, but we need you to believe it because your future may depend on it - in fact, your future does depend on it."

Gary took the lead again at this point, much to Mark's relief.

"There's going to be an advert in the local papers soon, asking for young men who can dance to go to this audition for a new boyband."

 _Ah, focusing on the dancing bit,_ Mark thought. _Very clever, Gaz! Jason'll definitely go for that, we're home and dry!_

"A boyband," Jason repeated, amused. "What, like that other one? The American lads? _New Kids on The Block_ , aren't they called?"

Gary shot Mark a brief glance, for confirmation. "Yes, like them, only British and slightly more... Well, more British. You need to look out for that advert and, as soon as you see it, you've got to call 'em up and say that you'll be there."

Jason stopped being merely amused and started laughing so hard that Mark thought he might throw up. At one point he almost doubled over in his mirth, and once he stopped laughing, he straightened out and started right back up again. He always did see the funny side of things.

"A boyband?" he said again, once his chuckling had subsided enough for him to speak. " _Me_? I don't think so lads – I can't sing for a start, and I don't claim to know much about music but isn't that sort of important for being in a band?"

"But you _can_ sing!" Mark said, quickly. They were losing him, and fast. "I mean, I'm _sure_ you can sing. And you can dance, can't you? You were on TV, dancing?"

"How did you know that?"

Mark waved his hands, wishing he hadn't mentioned it. He'd been doing a lot of that, lately, and vowed to stop.

"That's not the point! The point is that we know you'll get in; and you have to get in, it's crucial to a lot of things. Put it this way, if you don't go for it then you'll be stuck painting posh houses for the rest of your life, wondering what could've been. But if you do then I can't tell you how many doors it'll open up for you in the future. Not all good, in all honesty, but so many amazing ones, with so many opportunities. And that's before you think of all the money, travel, lack of worries, meeting new people... If it all works out your life will change for the better, you just have to trust us."

Obviously trying to decide whether these two blokes were complete nutters or just on a mission to wind him up, Jason stared at them for quite a long time. Mark wanted to say something, to try and persuade him more, but he didn't want to ruin anything, not when it seemed like Jason might actually believe them.

"Tell you what," he said. "You sound serious enough, so I'll look out for this advert for, let's say, three days. If it shows up I'll assume it's genuine and reply to it, just like you said. But if nothing comes of it then I'm just regarding you two as lunatics and moving on with my life, carrying on with my painting posh houses. Sound fair to you?"

Typical, logical, reasonable Jay. Accosted by two strangers and willing to go along with their mad ideas, but only if he could do it his way. Mark wanted to laugh, but thought that might make him look even weirder, and they couldn't really afford that, not yet. There was time for Jason to form an opinion of him, and that time was during the first meeting of Take That.

"Sounds more than fair, right Gaz?"

Gary nodded. "This isn't a wind-up, honest. I thought it might be too, but it isn't, believe me."

"I do believe you. I don't know why, but I do. There's just something about the two of you, I don't know what it is."

Not wanting to accidentally change Jason's mind by either of them saying anything else, Mark said they'd see him soon and pulled Gary down the street and around the corner. After a few moments had passed, he peered back just as Jason disappeared through the doors of the restaurant again, without so much of a backwards glance. Mark wanted to do a little dance to celebrate, but that would have to wait. Now was for action, or for the planning of it at least.

"One down, three to go," he said, when he was sure Jason was safely back inside and out of earshot. "We should do Howard, next."

"Where's he going to be?"

There was a bus stop nearby, and Mark went over to check the timetable.

"He lived - lives, sorry - in Droylsden, but that doesn't mean he'll be there at the moment." He ran his finger along the map, trying to work out the best route, but whichever way they went it looked as if it would take them the best part of an hour, and it was already coming up to seven o'clock. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow to go and find him though, it's getting late. If we start early enough we might get to both Howard and Rob before teatime. That'd be good, anything to get me home quicker."

They waited for the bus, both thinking things through. Mark was extremely pleased that they'd made some positive headway, but he knew it was going to be an uphill struggle from now on. Howard was much more cynical, Rob would be more difficult to pin down, and he hadn't even begun to think about what they would say to his own younger self.

It didn't take long for their bus to arrive, and they climbed on and found a couple of seats at the very back, tightly packed in. Gary slumped sideways against the window a little too hard, and there was a quiet thump as his head hit the glass.

"Ow."

"Shit, are you alright?"

Gary nodded, rubbing his head. He sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"No you're not, I can tell when you're lying. What's wrong?"

Gary looked at him for a moment before casting his eyes back to the floor, shoulders slumped and face glum. "I don't know,  it's still quite a lot to take in - it all feels real, now. And then you said that thing about Jason hating working with me, which isn't a nice thing to hear about yourself, y'know?"

"I wouldn't worry too much about it, Gaz, he gets his revenge when it comes to the choreography." Mark smiled, but when he saw how serious Gary was, he stopped at once. "No, you're great mates and he looks up to you, he really does. And in return you've got a lot of respect for him. Look, I'm sure it was Nigel's fault – most things were, back in the day. He had this way of rubbing us all up the wrong way, see, and him taking this weird dislike to Jason didn't help matters, like I said. I can pretty much guarantee it was, for the most part, down to him. He was that special sort of knobhead."

This seemed to placate Gary a little, and he sat back in his seat.

"Sorry to be so moody."

"You're not being moody. But if you were, I'd understand completely - some nutter turning up, claiming he's from the future and telling you you've got to start a boyband immediately. You've handled it a lot better than I would've done."

Gary didn't reply to that. He didn't say anything as they got off the bus and waited for the train, and he didn't say anything as they boarded the train and found some seats. It was only after they'd been travelling for a good ten minutes that he finally opened up and told Mark what was on his mind.

"I didn't want to believe you," Gary told him. "When you first started telling me, I mean. And when you said we were going to be in this boyband, I really didn't want to believe you, because I always thought I could do this whole singing thing on my own. But I guess if what you're saying is true, it doesn't work out that way."

"No, it doesn't, and I'm so sorry. You tried so hard with it, harder than I've ever seen you work, but for some reason it just didn't click like it should've done. I don't know why, I wish I did. You deserved it, more than anybody I know."

"I always thought I was good enough for it, y'know?" Gary sighed again, heavier this time. "I suppose you think I'm the biggest swell-head in the land, now, don't you?"

Mark laid a hand on Gary's arm. "I don't think that at all. You're so talented, and you're only gonna get better with time. Like I said, I don't know why your solo career didn't work. But it doesn't matter in the long run, because in 2012 everyone loves you to bits."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe not _everybody_ loves you – but I do."

Even if he'd get in trouble with Graham for saying something like that, Mark didn't care because it was worth it for the smile that spread across Gary's face. Gary already knew that they were together; wouldn't it be plainly bloody obvious that they were in love? And anyway, how much could it change things? Wasn't the most important thing to keep everyone on his side, so that they'd be more willing to follow his insane requests?

Indeed, Gary perked up considerably. "Normally I wouldn't say something like this to someone's face, 'cause it'd be too embarrassing. But I suppose it doesn't matter, considering what's going to happen."

"What's that?"

"I can see why I fall in love with you."

Mark blushed. Actually blushed like a sodding teenager. The heat rose in his face and he could feel his cheeks tingle as the blood rushed to them, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

"It's true," Gary said, smiling when he noticed Mark's reaction to his words. "I'm not saying I'm in love with you right now or anything, I mean I completely understand why I will be."

Mark smiled back. "That's sweet of you, Gary. Thanks. You're exactly the same Gaz you were in my version of the nineties, mostly the total lack of confidence about anything other than your music. You were like that back when we first met, and I always thought it was cute."

It was Gary's turn to blush, just as much as Mark had. He didn't mention it, and instead rapidly changed the subject, which Mark was quite glad about. After all, talking about feelings was only going to get them into more trouble, and they couldn't afford any more trouble.

"Talking of us first meeting: have you thought about how you're gonna get yourself involved? You can't just go up to yourself like we did with Jason, can you? Surely you'll recognise yourself straight away?"

Mark shook his head. "No, but it's a good point. I've had a lot of people telling me I haven't aged much over the years - not in anyplace they can see, that is. But I'm sure if I showed them my arse they'd have a different opinion."

He smirked to himself for a second, trying to decide whether to broach the topic of _Do What U Like_ , leather, jelly and bare bums. It probably wasn't advisable; he didn't want to freak Gary out before they even started.

Then again, maybe it would be better to at least warn him. After all, Gary had been the most hesitant when the idea had been introduced, although he hadn't put up too much of a fight in the end. How could he bring that up, though?

_Oh yeah, by the way Gaz, you're gonna have to get your kit off and smother yourself in jelly for our first video..._

No, it would be much better for Gary to find some things out by himself. It was only fair and, as Graham kept warning him, opening his big mouth wasn't doing the timeline any good at all.

"You'll have to talk to him. Me. Er... Him." Mark shook his head to try and shift the confusion. "But I think we'll do that last, eh? Round up the others before we try and sort me out, and I'm sure I'll agree to it if I know what's good for me."

"I hope so. This is our stop."

The walk back to Gary's house was fairly short and extremely pleasant, the two of them chatting about what was in the charts. It was a safe enough subject, with not much scope for messing things up, although Mark tried to be careful with his words. One accidental mention of Twitter or downloads could cause chaos.

All of the lights were off when they arrived at the house, and Mark's bike - Graham's bike - was still propped up against the wall, waiting for him to hop on and start the long journey back. His legs ached even thinking about it, and he wished more than anything that he could grab a taxi. It was one of those things he usually did without thinking, not having to worry about having the right money or interacting with other people.

"Well, I suppose I'd better be getting ba-"

"D'you want to come in for a cuppa?"

Mark hesitated for a moment before shrugging. "Yeah, why not?"


	7. Breaking Curfew

~

An awful twinge of guilt hit Mark right in the chest as Gary took out his keys to open the door. The last time Mark had seen those keys, he had been swearing at them as he tried to get the correct one in the lock, all whilst supporting Gary's weight. It disappeared as they stepped over the threshold, only to be replaced by a strange kind of awkwardness at standing in the hallway as an invited guest.

They'd thrown a fair few parties in this house when Marge and Colin had been away, before the majority of the fame had hit. The five of them and some of their respective mates, all getting far too drunk together to drown the sorrows of the new track not charting very high. On one infamous occasion there had been an incident in the hallway where a large chunk of wallpaper had been ripped off, and when Mark looked, it was still in place. He made a mental note to warn Gary about that, and tell him to not let Rob show off his handstands after twelve pints of lager, no matter how much he swore he could do it.

Plus, they'd had sex in the living room, once. Everyone else had been asleep after one of said parties, and both of them had been drunk and free of inhibitions, and it had just happened. Mark still cringed to think of Gary's parents settling down to watch TV on that particular sofa, even after they'd turned the cushions over.

"So, kitchen's this way," Gary said, pointing. "But I suppose you know that."

"Er, yeah." Mark followed Gary's finger and opened the kitchen door. He made an educated guess as to where the light switch was – his memory wasn't _that_ good – and was pleased when he was right. "I'll fill the kettle."

Gary got out the mugs - Marge's best, he noted - as Mark went over to the tap. Whilst he waited for it to fill, he looked out of the window to see that Gary's street hadn't changed at all, making him wonder about his old house. What did that wall look like before people started scrawling over it? More to the point, what had his family been like? Did Tracey still have that silly fringe that she spent hours on every morning, stopping everyone else from getting in the bathroom? Was Daniel starting to get his first lot of football trophies, taking centre stage and pushing Mark's to the back? And what about the dog, how was the dog? Actually, which dog was it?

Twenty-three years, Mark was quickly discovering, was quite a long time.

"Mark? You've been filling that up for ages."

There was so much water in the kettle that it was spilling over the rim, running back into the sink, and Mark scrambled to turn it off before he flooded the kitchen.

"Fuck!" He tipped half of the water back out and started drying the outside of the kettle with a tea towel he grabbed from the counter. "Sorry, I was miles away."

"I saw. Thinking about going to see your family?"

"Yeah, how'd you guess?"

"'cause that's the first thing I'd do if it were me," Gary grinned. "I'd go back and look at our Ian's hair so that I could tease him about it all over again. It's right daft, I tell you, but he reckons it looks great. I'm growing mine out at the moment so I can get it bleached blond, and it's nearly there, now." He ran his fingers through it. "I can't wait, it's going to be brilliant."

"You've got bleached hair in most of my early memories of the band." Mark tried not to chuckle, he didn't want to give anything (else) away. "You had it when we met."

Gary raised his eyebrows. "Really? So, does it end up looking good? It must've done, for you to fall in love with me."

Mark had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. "You know I can't tell you about the future, Gaz."

"Oh c'mon, you can tell me that much!"

"Nope, sorry, my lips are sealed. You'll just have to wait a few years to decide whether you actually like it or not, and that's all there is to it. Now, let's change the bloody subject before I tell you anything else I shouldn't."

Begrudgingly, Gary agreed. They chatted about other things over several cups of tea, and when Mark looked at the clock next, it was gone ten o'clock. He didn't want to go, but Graham would be worried otherwise. And Mark was slightly worried too, about riding that far in the dark, especially when he wasn't completely sure of the journey. At least it wasn't raining anymore, and if he left now he'd hopefully avoid any further downpours.

"It's a long way back to Manchester by bike," Gary pointed out. "You could always stay here, you know, especially if you're coming back tomorrow anyway. Why don't you give Graham a ring if you think he'll fret? He's in the 'book, isn't he? Feel free to use the phone, it's just out in the hall if you want to."

If Mark had been looking for an excuse to stay, this was as good as any. He thought about it for ages, arguing with himself as he often did, and eventually came to a decision.

"I'd better not," he said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice, and ignore the same on Gary's face. "He'll only go on and on about me spending too much time with you, and how dangerous it is for the state of the universe or whatever. You wouldn't think that I'm technically older than he is, at the moment."

Gary frowned slightly. "I haven't actually asked... How old are you?"

"Forty." As the word fell from his lips, Mark gave a shudder. He wished he'd lied and said thirty-something, he could've pulled that off if Gary didn't bother to sit and do the maths. _Forty_. That was old, no matter how he looked at it, no matter how he said it. When he'd been eighteen, forty had seemed so far off that he couldn't imagine it, and now here he was, living it. "And a bit," he added, although he wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if it mattered - in fact, it made it worse.

"That's not too old, not really. And you said I'm older than you by, what was it? A week?"

"And a year. Fifty three weeks between us, to the day. You like to remind me of that during arguments, you seem to think it helps you get the upper hand."

"I can't imagine you being argumentative."

"Oh, you just wait," Mark laughed. "Although it's mostly Jason who I bicker with, normally about lyrics. We're like two old women when we get going – you and Howard think it's hilarious."

"And Rob," Gary added, and there was that hint of curiosity in his voice. Mark wasn't going to fall for it, not this time.

"Yeah, and Rob too, of course."

Realising that he still hadn't started the process of leaving, Mark stood up and put his thin jacket back on. He shivered when he heard the sound of a thunderclap outside, but he was determined to get back to Graham's house and avoid the inevitable lecture. If he was lucky, Graham would be in bed and he could sneak in and up the stairs without being detected. For being forty, he felt an awful lot like a teenager breaking curfew.

They went to the front door and stood for a second, neither of them quite sure what they should do or say as an appropriate goodbye. In the end, Mark pulled Gary into a quick hug, and opened the door before he could do anything else. He wanted to, of course, but it would've been wrong, and more than a bit weird.

The rain was torrential once more. It was bouncing off of the porch roof, hammering down on the wheelie bins and making huge puddles all over the street. Mark wrinkled up his face in disgust, and wished that he had a hood on his coat. Stupid British Summer, he thought, why is it always so unpredictable? A couple of hours ago it'd been lovely, blue skies and fluffy white clouds. Now it was just as miserable as it had been that morning, and he was going to get soaked and quite possibly freeze to death. Mark wasn't sure what the repercussions of that would be, but he didn't care to find out.

As he was about to take his first step outside, he heard a rustling behind him, and turned to see Gary holding up large waterproof coat. "You can borrow this, if you want," he was saying, unzipping it and showing that it was fleece-lined. Mark could've cried. "But it might be too big for you. It's one of my old ones and I've lost a bit of weight, recently. It's nice and warm and it'll keep you dry, though, which is the important thing."

Mark didn't hesitate. He slipped an arm into one of the sleeves and allowed Gary to help him put the other side on. It _was_ warm, even after only a few seconds, and when the zip was done to his neck he could tell it would keep him perfectly dry from the waist up.

"Cheers," he said, putting the hood up. "I dunno what me catching a nineties cold would do in the future, probably best not to find out, eh?"

"Sounds like something from _Star Trek_ ," Gary chuckled. "I hope it does the trick, anyway."

"I'm sure it will, and I'll bring it back tomorrow, yeah? And then we'll go to Droylsden, maybe Stoke if we've got time. Probably won't get over to Oldham but it'd be a start."

"Okay, if that's what you think we should do." Gary frowned, looking as if he was considering saying something else. After a second, he did. "D'you reckon I should call up this other agent I found before Nigel got hold of me? I can at least schedule a meeting for me to talk to him. And I'll get the advert placed, as well. That's sort of urgent, really. I can do all of that in the morning, before you get here."

Not for the first time, Mark wanted to kiss him.

"Absolutely, yes! Do it as soon as you can, Gaz, on the dot of nine o'clock, or call earlier and leave a message, and then keep calling back until you speak to a human. I'll get here at the crack of dawn and we can get started with the rest straight away."

"Well, maybe not the crack of dawn, eh?" Gary said. "I can't function before eight, unless there's a very good reason for it."

 _Oh Gaz,_ Mark thought to himself, fondly. _You just wait..._

"There's a very good reason for it," he said, instead. "It's about your future! And my future, come to that."

"Our future," Gary added. His cheeks reddened, and Mark was pretty sure his did as well. "Or whatever."

"That too."

Another hug later and Mark was cycling down the road, mostly dry thanks to Gary's raincoat. His legs were getting wet, but the jeans were thick and doing a decent enough job of protecting him. The rain made progress harder, but he soldiered on, trying to do the route from memory so that he wouldn't have to look up to check where he was and get a face full of water in the process.

Maybe it would've been better if he'd taken up Gary's offer of a bed for the night. Part of him - and not just the bit being soaked - wished he had done. It would've been awkward, explaining to Gary's Mum who the middle aged stranger on her sofa was, but he reckoned they could've worked something out between the two of them. But it was probably for the best that he'd declined and was now battling the elements to get home in one piece.

All for the sake of the timelines.

By his calculations, the journey would take him an hour, minimum, and that was before factoring in the rainfall impeding his progress. He was grateful that Graham lived on the outskirts of Manchester, and not the middle. It was still a bloody long way, though, and Mark wondered whether it might be a better idea to hire a little car for the week, to save both bus fares and his legs. They were aching already, and he'd only been going for quarter of an hour. A car would make things so much easier, and so much quicker...

No, he couldn't do that. They'd have to check his details out before they'd let him take one out for a test, and that would mean a whole new level of explanations. Had he even passed his test at this age? He didn't think so. Okay, so he could prove that he knew how to drive, but then his actual, physical driving licence would be a problem. It wasn't as if he could produce his passport and apply for another one.

It was pointless to even think about it, but it was distracting him from the weather.

He put his head down, and cycled on.

~

It was late when he got back, but Graham was still up, sitting at the kitchen table with a packet of cigarettes and a glass of something – whiskey, it looked like. It was dark brown and wet, anyway, and well on the way to being empty. His hands were slightly grey; obviously they'd been covered in oil or grease and he hadn't been able to shift it all with ordinary soap.

Mark loitered in the hallway, taking a long time to get his coat off as he watched Graham through the door. It was silly, the way he was feeling, but he couldn't help it. There was an certain air in the house, and it reminded him of getting home far too late when he still lived with his parents, not wanting to face the music until he really had to.

Graham was ten times the size of him, or at least that was the way it felt when he was pissed off. Mark hadn't really done anything wrong, so he had no reason to feel as guilty as he did. After all, he was a fully grown man and could stay out as late as he wanted, with who he wanted. It didn't stop him from feeling nervous, though.

 _If Graham's pissed off with you,_ he told himself, _it's only because he's worried about what you've been up to when you've not been under his direct supervision. You've already fucked things up once, he's clearly concerned you'll do it again!_

Preparing for a lecture, Mark took a deep breath and ventured into the kitchen.

"Hi," he said, approaching the table feeling more and more like a teenager. "Had a good day?"

Graham glanced up at him. He looked tired, more so than usual. "Yeah, I've nearly finished fixing the car. What've you been doing with yourself?"

"Trying to get the band back together," Mark told him, easing himself into the chair opposite and kicking his shoes off under the table. He pointed to the packet of fags, which was open with one missing. Graham only smoked when he was stressed. "Can I? Thanks." Graham held out his lighter without a word. "We tracked down Jason today, and he seems like he's curious about the whole thing, which is all we can really ask for at this point. Tomorrow we're going to try for Howard and maybe Rob if we've got time, so we're making a bit of progress at least." He lit his cigarette and took a drag, blowing the smoke back up into the air. "I'm just hoping we'll get on alright tomorrow as well, 'cause then we'll nearly have everyone on board. I'm feeling a lot more positive after seeing Jason today, and I reckon the other two'll be much easier to convince."

Nodding, Graham drained his drink in one big gulp, smacked his lips and set the glass firmly back down on the table. He barely looked at Mark as he did it, which made Mark feel even worse. "Good. Well, I'm off to bed."

"You... you didn't wait up for me, did you?"

"Yep. Goodnight."

With that, he was gone, up the stairs and into his room without another word, angry or otherwise. Mark sat at the table, his cigarette smouldering away in the ashtray, entirely forgotten. If he'd pissed Graham off even more, then he could just about understand it. He didn't agree with it, but he got it - Graham had been slaving away over the car all day whilst he was off, gallivanting with his sort of boyfriend. Only, he wasn't gallivanting, he was trying to get the sodding band back together, for the sake of them all! And didn't Graham _enjoy_ tinkering away in his garage with things like that, wasn't that his favourite hobby?

Mark didn't have the energy to try and figure anything out, or to find a way to make it up with Graham. That would all have to wait until tomorrow, preferably after a very long and very deep sleep. His entire body ached after cycling such a long way, and a stressful afternoon, and all he wanted to do now was to collapse into bed with Gary.

The problem was (and it was rapidly becoming a dilemma, the more he tried to work it out), he didn't know which version of Gary he wanted more.

Sighing, Mark made his way upstairs. Through his bedroom door, he could hear Graham snoring already, and that gave Mark hope that his grumpiness had been due to tiredness, rather than genuine annoyance. Either way, the sound of Graham's snores made him feel even sleepier, if that was possible, and by the time Mark peeled back the covers he was nearly asleep on his feet.

Everything changed when his head hit the pillow, however, as it often did. All of a sudden, Mark was wide awake again, his mind racing faster than ever before. There were still so many things he needed to do, so many things that had to be fixed before he had any chance of life going back to whatever was normal.

Convincing all of the lads to reply to the advert was only the start.

Okay, so they might do it. They might turn up at the audition and everything might be fine. But what if other people turned up? There had been six of them at the original audition – himself, Gary, Rob, Howard and Jay, plus some guy who was so wrong for the whole thing that they couldn't even remember his name the next week. And it had just worked from the very beginning, all five of them slotting in with one another straight away, no questions, no worries.

What if one of them didn't get in, or one of them was replaced at the last minute? Mark rubbed his eyes, wanting to get rid of the thought. It would probably be him, too. He was the most average of the lot of them, at least in his mind. Howard and Jason had the moves, Gary and Rob had the voices, but what did he have to offer that nobody else could? Average moves, average voice, the smile, the whole 'cute' thing - that had been his role, at least in the earliest days. What if someone better came along? Someone who actually knew what he was doing? Was being the little one really enough, or was it just what Nigel had been looking for at the time? Mark didn't like to think that Nigel's personal preferences had anything to do with it, but they probably had somewhere along the way.

Hating the way his brain always turned on him when he was trying to get to sleep, Mark rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, determined to think about _anything_ other than the band.

He was asleep in seconds.

~

Graham was whistling. As Mark pulled his jeans on – once again borrowed from Graham and two sizes too big, but that was okay because it was _the fashion_ \- he could hear it wafting up the stairs. It was a tune he didn't recognise, but it was cheery enough, and that was a good sign. The sound was followed by the smell of toast, egg and beans, and Mark buttoned up his shirt quicker than he'd ever done in his entire life.

"Good morning to you, young Mark!"

Mark edged into the tidy little kitchen, afraid of what he might see once he got in there. A chirpy voice greeting him so soon after such a grumpy one last night, surely that was too good to be true? He was used to grumpiness at home in the morning, but even Grumpy Gary wasn't as bad as all that (not after he'd had a cup of decaf, obviously).

But he needn't have been worried in the slightest. Graham was standing by the hob, with wooden spoon in his hand and a tartan apron tied snugly around his waist. When Mark approached, he saw that what he'd smelt had indeed been egg and beans, and the toaster was busy browning four slices of bread.

"Morning," he said, warily. "Did you sleep well?"

"Never better kid, never better. I slept like a log, you probably heard me snoring from across the hall, but that always means I'm overtired. Hey, did you get that lamp off this time? I had a quick tinker with it last night but what with it being light so late at the moment it was kind of difficult to tell if I'd fixed it."

Mark poured himself a large glass of cold orange juice and sat down at the dining table, in the same seat he'd been in the night before. "Oh yeah, you did, definitely. It was off when I went up at any rate, and didn't come on after I went to bed, as far as I could tell. That smells great, mate."

"Good, I hope you're hungry, 'cause you're gonna need your energy if you're going to try for Droylsden and Stoke today."

Trying not to choke to death on his juice, Mark looked up. Graham was next to him, holding two steaming plates aloft. He plonked one down in front of Mark and took his seat opposite, tucking into his breakfast without another word.

"Er, right, yeah," Mark said. "Listen, I just want to say that I'm really sorry about what happened last night... or this morning, I suppose. I was so late back, but I didn't mean to be, and I didn't realise you'd stay up and wait for me. Time just got away from us, see, after everything that happened, but I didn't fuck anything else up this time, I swear on my life."

"Hey, there's no need to apologise to me Markie, I was the one who was being a prat yesterday. I was just concerned as to where you were, that was all, and to be honest I was tired after buggering about in the garage under the Datsun all day. But you're a grown man; you know what you're doing and I have to trust you to make your own decisions. Only you can decide what you want to do with your time, Mark, no matter what the circumstances." Biting off a piece of toast, Graham smiled. "Whatever you did, I'm sure you made the right choice."

"I still should've called you before I left, let you know I was on my way back. I forgot that mobile phones aren't everywhere in this decade, like they are where I'm from. Gary even offered to let me use the house phone, and I don't know why I didn't. Sorry, mate."

"Shall we chalk it up to experience and say no more about it, then?" Graham held out his own glass of juice and they clinked them together in agreement. "All in the past, all forgotten about."

"That's good," Mark said, feeling genuinely relieved. He hated falling out with his mates, particularly when they were doing everything they could to help him get out of a sticky situation. "So, what's on the agenda this morning?"

"Well, I'll be back in the garage, obviously, trying my hardest to fix what you broke..." Graham grinned. "It's lucky I love this sort of challenge, isn't it? So I expect I'll spend most of the day flat on my back under the car, trying to figure out the time machine's connections and all of that. I know it's possible, because you're here, so one way or another it has to be done. That'll be the first thing I have to work out, then I can get onto fixing it so we can send you back to where you should be. Though, can I please ask that next time you use it you're a bit more careful?"

"Ha!" Mark laughed. "No worries about that, mate, I won't be going near that fucking car ever again once this is all over and done with. It's bloody terrifying, that thing."

"If you say so. Personally, I can't wait to give it a go, I bet it's a wonderful experience." Graham finished his juice, and got up to pour another straight from the fridge. "Have you finalised your plans for today, then?" he asked over his shoulder.

Mark sighed. "I dunno, really. We'll probably try to track Howard down first, 'cause he'll be much easier to find, and easier to convince. Although saying that, Rob's still a kid so maybe he'll be more impressionable, easier to influence. It's going to be difficult, whichever way around we do it, so I don't think it really matters."

Graham listened, and nodded. "How're you planning on getting around?"

When Mark told him, Graham shook his head and sat back down at the table, fixing Mark with a uncharacteristically serious look.

"No no no, that won't do, will it? Bike and bus? Cycling to Frodsham will take up most of the morning as it is, and you want to get there as early as possible so you can have more time. No, I tell you what, I'll give you a lift to Gary's house and then you can take the bus or the train from there. When you're finished tracking the other two down, you can give me a ring and I'll come and pick you up again as soon as I can. I can't let you have the car in case I need it, but I can give you some cash for the bus fare or whatever you need."

"Is the Datsun... okay to do that? I thought it was still up on blocks in the garage? And, no offence, but I don't really trust it after everything that's happened. It hasn't exactly got the best track record."

"I've got another car," Graham grinned. "And you'll like this one - it works properly, like a real car. Not a single time circuit on board."


	8. Home Comforts

~

Graham's other car was much better than the Datsun. For the times, at least. And it was much better than a bike. Okay, it didn't have a CD player or electric windows, but at least it had four wheels, seatbelts and a fully functioning roof. The roof was Mark's favourite thing about it, aside from the lack of time machine.

Mark sighed with relief as the rain started, hammering down on the windscreen faster than the wipers could get rid of it. It wasn't too cold, although Mark didn't trust the British Summer in the slightest and was dreading waiting at the bus stop. Part of him wanted to beg Graham to stay and act as taxi, but he knew there was no time for that, not if he wanted the time machine fixed as soon as possible. And as Graham was the only one who had any hope of doing so, Mark couldn't monopolise him too much. He also couldn't monopolise the second car, in case Graham needed it to jump start the first, or go and get parts, or drive around for a bit trying to work things out.

"So, you'll call me at home when you're done, yeah?" Graham asked as they pulled into Gary's street, switching the engine off and fixing Mark with a serious look. "I gave you the number, didn't I? And you brought it with you?"

Mark pointed to the pocket of his jeans. "Yep, got it in here, safe and sound. I promise I'll call you as soon as we're done, but I don't know when that'll be. It might be late."

"That's alright, as long as you do it. I'll be awake, so don't worry about waking me up or anything. And if you think you're going to be ages then give me a call anyway, to let me know."

"Will do."

"And... Be careful, yeah?" Graham patted Mark on the arm. "Don't do anything daft, eh?"

Mark nodded. "Don't worry, I'll look after the timelines as best as I can."

"I wasn't really thinking about the timelines, for once," Graham told him, smirking slightly. "Remember, he's just a boy!" Mark rolled his eyes, but it didn't put Graham off. "I mean it, Mark! You're far too old for him here, so keep your hands to yourself or you'll have his Mum after you."

"Oh, shut up."

He _did_ have a point, but there was no way Mark was going to concede it. He was doing his best not to think about it at all in fact, because it was all very confusing and more than a little unsettling.

Instead, Mark opened the door and stuck the umbrella out, dreading the moment where he'd have to leave the car after it. He popped it open and leapt to the pavement as quickly as he could, slamming the door shut behind him in one smooth move, managing to stay dry despite the odds.

Graham waved and drove off, leaving the rest of mission to Mark.

Well, to Mark and Gary, but Mark was trying his best not to think about that on top of everything else. Things were difficult enough without bringing lustful thoughts over younger (sort of) men into it. He needed to focus on bringing the band together, and ignore any conflicting feelings about Gary all together.

As he knocked on the front door, Mark shook out the umbrella so it wouldn't get the carpet wet, flinching as cool spots of rain landed on his bare arms. And then he waited. And waited, and waited... He knocked again, a little bit louder but hopefully still politely, but there was still nothing.

Just as panic was setting in and he was about to knock a third time, he heard shuffling coming from the other side of the door. When it opened, Mark found himself face to face with Colin Barlow, who was wearing a smart shirt and looking more than a little harried. His collar was turned up and he had a tie slung around it, and was obviously right in the middle of getting dressed for work.

"Yes?"

After the initial shock of seeing Colin looking so young, Mark recovered his voice. "Good morning, Mr. Barlow, I'm Mark." He paused for a second and Colin just stared at him, waiting for quite a lot more detail than Mark was providing. "Er, I'm a friend of Gary's - he's expecting me."

Colin furrowed his brow even more; clearly wondering why on earth his eighteen year old son was hanging around with a middle-aged man. Mark held his breath as he made his assessment, waiting to be told to bugger off and not even think of darkening their door again. In the end he didn't say anything at all, moving to one side to let Mark in and continuing to do up his tie as he eyed him curiously.

"He's in his room, you can go through if you want," Colin said. Mark couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the hint of a smile on his face. "D'you know where it is?"

"Yes, I do," Mark told him. "Thanks so much. And I'm sorry to disturb you, I know it's early. We've just got a busy day ahead, want to get a move on."

Flashing Colin what he hoped was a confident (but respectful, _I swear I'm not going to jump your son_ ) smile back, Mark made his way down the hall. As he got closer to Gary's bedroom door he could hear someone talking on the other side. He opened the door to find Gary sitting cross-legged on his bed, a telephone in his left hand and a pen in his right, which he was clicking on and off in that annoying way he did when he was concentrating. He had one of his precious lyric notebooks in front on him, full of scribbles but with a few neat sentences here and there.

Gary waved the pen at Mark, indicating that he should find a place to sit. The only place that was free was a small stool in front of a keyboard, and Mark perched rather precariously on the edge whilst he waited for Gary to finish his call.

"Yes, that's right, a boyband. And I've got a few people in mind already for the other members. Er, there's four of them," he looked at Mark, who nodded, "and me. So it'd be a five-piece."

There was a pause whilst the other person spoke, and Gary wrote something down.

"Yes, we all sing _and_ dance." He raised his eyebrows, causing Mark to bite back a laugh. "I can bring along a demo tape if you like, although it's only got me on it at the moment and it might be a bit rough around the edges. I hope that won't be a problem?"

Gary listened to the answer, then scribbled on his pad again.

"Will do, thank you very much. See you then." He hung up and thew the phone on the bed. "Hi."

"Morning. Good news?"

"Sort of. Look."

He thrust the pad towards Mark, who took it and read what Gary had written, deciphering his scrawl as he went along. Gary had set up a meeting with a band manager in the middle of Manchester, which they could all reasonably get to, at ten-thirty in the morning, which was more than humane, even for the lazier members of the band. All good so far, and Mark had to read the details again to try and work out why Gary was making a face. When he saw it, he understood fully.

"Saturday? Shit, what day is it today?"

"Thursday - that's what I mean by _sort of_ good news. We don't have long, do we? What's that, two days, plus early Saturday morning? He said it was the only time he could do this month, and I thought it was probably best to take it and deal with the consequences later." Gary shook his head. "But we've got to find you, and the other two, and convince them all to come to this audition. It's gonna be bloody hard."

Mark thought about it. It wasn't long at all, and it would definitely be hard. But it could be done and it had to be done, because there was just too much riding on it for it not to work. This was their futures they were dealing with, and Mark had become rather attached to his future, for the most part.

If he knew the lads – and he hoped that he did by now – they'd be wary at first, and then gradually, as their curiosity got the better of them, they'd accept it. Jason had done, and he was the most wary and sceptical of them all.

"Yeah, it will be, but we'll do it. We _have_ to do it, one way or another. At least now we've got the information from the record company, and we might be able to use that in our bargaining."

"D'you think the others will go for it?"

"I hope so. I think so. I expect Rob will, 'cause he was always game for a laugh when he was young, and he still is now for the most part. Howard might be suspicious but not as much as Jay was, and if we really push the dancing element I think we'll be fine with him. We've done the most difficult one, not including myself, but there's clearly some part of me that was always destined to be in a boyband, so with any luck I'll go along with it and not ask too many questions."

"If not, we could always audition as just the two of us. You and me now, I mean."

Mark laughed. "Christ no, my singing's not good enough to be in any sort of duo, even with your voice to cover me!" He chucked the notepad back on the bed and stood up, ready to get going. "And it wouldn't be the same without the other three, not in the beginning. They're so great, Gaz, all three of them. You'll love them."

Gary stood up too. "You sound like you do."

"Oh, you've got no idea. You guys are my best friends, y'know? I went through something a couple of years ago that was so shit, which is putting it mildly, and you were always there for me. And then when we went back to work, touring and that, all of you were constantly checking up on me, driving me mad with your nagging and hugs. Howard said it was revenge for all the times I clucked around him in the nineties."

"I don't mind being nagged," Gary told him. "I need it, sometimes."

"Yeah, you won't be saying that in a year or so, when I'm worrying that everyone's eaten enough tea and drunk a pint of water before they go to bed. Although you have your moments, too - I remember one time where you went on and on about me finishing this massive bit of cheesecake, and in the end I ate it just to shut you up."

Gary laughed. "Talking of food, we should eat before we go," he said. "I always find it best to try and secure my future on a full stomach, and I can smell it cooking."

As they reached the kitchen door, Mark spotted the coat rack and mentally slapped a hand to his head. The raincoat he'd been loaned the night before was still hanging up on the peg at Graham's house, and now he had one of Graham's on instead. Gary's had been a much better fit; Graham's almost came down to his knees.

"Shit, I forgot your coat," he said. "Sorry mate, I meant to pick it up on my way out the door but we were in such a rush to get here that it slipped my mind completely."

Gary shrugged. "No problem, I don't wear it anymore anyway. And you can always bring it back later... You're gonna be around until after the audition, aren't you?"

He sounded hopeful. In truth Mark hadn't thought about that, what with his plan to get the band back together and leave as soon as possible and all. He hadn't considered sticking around to see how it went, mostly because he couldn't bear the thought of what might go wrong, and he was worried about making things worse. Anything he could do to make the whole thing run smoothly...

"Yep, 'course I am," he said, all previous escape plans dissolving immediately with one look into Gary's puppy dog eyes. "Graham hasn't finished fixing the car yet, anyway. I'm not going anywhere until that's done."

Gary beamed and, as they passed the mirror in the hallway, Mark saw that he was doing the same thing without even realising. He scolded himself for it, and followed Gary into the kitchen.

Inside, Colin and Marge were bickering good-naturedly about the temperature of the toaster, and Ian was sitting at the table crunching his way through a bowl of cereal. He had a thick diary in his hand, and looked far more serious than Mark remembered (although Gary was right - he did have a ludicrous hairstyle).

"Mornin' Marge," Gary said, lolloping over and planting a sloppy kiss on him Mum's cheek, peering over her shoulder to see what she was doing. "Any toast on the go?"

"You can have the rest of mine, Gary love; I'm off to the shops. And don't worry, I've got the list you left on the noticeboard. I won't forget anything."

Marge turned around and saw Mark hovering shyly in the doorway. He felt his face flush, which was stupid. He knew these people, they were more or less his family. He'd been at Ian's house only the week before, playing with his kids - they called him Uncle Mark, which made his whole world feel much brighter every time - but seeing him so young was off-putting.

Marge looked and sounded exactly the same. She was beautiful, and Mark had always thought it was obvious where Gary got his good looks from. Mark got on with Marge better than anyone else in the entire family (including Gary, sometimes). He yearned to talk to her about this, about the adventure he was currently on, because he knew that Marge would be kind to him and, even if she didn't quite believe him, she wouldn't make fun or brand him a loony.

And then there was Colin. As Mark looked at him, his heart broke.

Torn from his thoughts by Marge asking him something, Mark only just recovered in time to catch the end of it.

"-must this new friend of Gary's?"

"Oh, yes. Mark. I'm Mark. I spoke to you on the phone the other day?"

"I remember, and he's done nothing but talk about you since then, Mark. Funny, because he's never mentioned you before that night, so I suppose seeing you at The Clocktower must've left quite the impression on him. Are you off out together today?"

Mark nodded. "We're off to track down a friend," he told her. "Howard. He lives in Droylsden."

"Ah, lovely place. Bit out of the way for us, although they've got a nice BHS from what I've heard." Marge smiled warmly. "Well, you'll have to excuse me, Mark. I must get down to the shops or I'll never hear the end of it if Gary doesn't get his Jaffa Cakes! Good luck with finding your friend, boys."

She patted him on the arm and left. Good old Marge, Mark thought, suddenly missing her terribly. He made a pact with himself that, the minute he got back, he and Gary would go up and visit her.

Back in the kitchen, it was Ian and Gary who were now bickering. One was accusing the other of drinking the last of the milk, and the argument was only stopped by Colin thwacking them both over the head with his newspaper. None too gently, either.

"Eh, what've I told the two of you about arguing? You're supposed to be grown men for goodness sakes! Mark, would you like a cup of tea before you go?"

The shift in mood was so typically Colin Barlow, and Mark felt that awful stabbing in his chest yet again. He missed Colin tremendously too, only there was no pact to be made this time.

"Yes, please," he said, taking a seat next to Ian. "Thanks, Mr. Barlow."

"Call me Colin, lad," Colin said. He pointed at his sons and sighed, semi-affectionately. "These two do it all the time, so there's no reason why you shouldn't."

"It's a sign of respect, Colin," Ian grinned. "Well, sort of. It means you've turned us into adults, doesn't it? And as adults, we're allowed to refer to other adults by their first names, even if they happen to be our old man."

Colin laughed, shaking his head. "Ah, you're a cheeky sod, you are. If you're so much of an adult, why're you still fighting with your little brother like you're both five years old?"

"How can he be my little brother if we're both five?"

"That's not the point. The point is he's the only brother you've got, he looks up to you, and you need to make sure you take care of him out there in the big bad world."

" _Daaaaaaaaadddd_ ," Gary whined, sounding remarkably like a toddler. "Stop talking about me like I'm a kid! I'm eighteen, you know!"

Mark, sipping the tea Colin had poured for him, chuckled, and Gary gave him a swift kick under the table.

"Talking of age," Colin turned to Mark, who inwardly winced, knowing what was coming but dreading it nonetheless. "How old are you, Mark? If you don't mind me asking, that is?"

There was no point lying, was there? He might get away with taking a few years off, but at the end of the day he was clearly on the wrong side of thirty, and even his so-called boyish good looks wouldn't save him that much.

"I'm forty," he said, looking Colin straight in the eye. "I, er, know it looks weird, what with Gary being so young and all..."

"Hey, I'm not here to judge who my boy is friends with," Colin said, smiling. "As long as you're not getting each other into any trouble, that's all I care about."

Mark wanted to stay on Colin's good side as much as possible. "Nope, no trouble at all. We just share a common interest in music, that's all. We met after one of Gary's gigs at a pub in Manchester, and it all went from there."

"Which pub was that?"

"The Clocktower."

"Ah yes, I know it well." Colin grinned, and Mark felt himself relax ever so slightly. "So, what d'you think of Gary's music, then?"

Ian butted in. "He's great, innee? My little bro," he reached across the table and tried to ruffle Gary's hair, but Gary ducked out of the way just in time (protecting his hair, of course). "He's gonna be super famous one day, and then he's gonna take me on tour with him so I can have all the birds he doesn't want."

Gary rolled his eyes, but he didn't look annoyed. Rather, he seemed quite touched - maybe it was true, and he _did_ look up to Ian. Mark knew that whatever had happened (or not happened) in Gary's career, Ian had always been cheering him on from the sidelines, and was extremely proud of him. Not that he would ever admit this to his brother, but Mark understood that. It was the same thing with him and Daniel - there was a special brotherly bond that you just didn't talk about, but both of you knew it was there.

"Yeah, like the women who'd fancy me would ever fancy you," Gary shot back. "And anyway, I'm not having you and your stinky feet on my tour bus."

" _I_ haven't got stinky feet, how bloody dare you!"

They continued to trade insults over breakfast, with Colin refereeing and Mark drinking endless cup of tea – Colin kept filling it up when he wasn't looking, he learnt from Gary later. It was the first time in all the madness that he'd really felt at home, and it was comforting to know that some things never changed.

Eventually, Gary finished both his toast and his bowl of cornflakes (with plenty of sugar), and they were ready to go. Colin and Ian had both gone to work by this point, leaving two of them alone in the kitchen. Mark was quite glad when Gary got up and put his bowl in the dishwasher - at least then they were doing something productive, rather than sitting and staring at one another. That had too much potential for Mark to say something he shouldn't, or for his emotions to get the better of him.

The rain had slowed down, but it was still horribly wet outside. On their way to the bus stop they had to dodge several puddles, and keep to the inside of the pavement to avoid being soaked by passing cars speeding through the water in the gutters.

Thankfully there was nobody else waiting at the bus stop, so they could plan their next moves in peace.

"What's the best way into Droylsden?" Mark asked, inspecting the map. "The twenty-six or the four-one-nine?"

"The twenty-six," Gary said. "If we get the four-one-nine we'd have to walk for ages because it only goes to the outskirts, but I think the twenty-six takes you right into the centre of town."

That sounded like a good idea. Anything that would take less time would be a bonus.

Mark sat down on the damp bench next to Gary, and looked up and down the road. There were no buses that he could see, even though one was scheduled to show up at any moment. This was to be expected, though - buses were bound to be slow whatever year you were in.

"What's the plan when we get there? Where exactly are we gonna start looking?"

Mark didn't know. He wanted to be the one with the plan, who knew what to do every step of the way. Only problem was, Gary normally took the lead, and Mark wasn't used to the full responsibility laying solely on his shoulders. It wasn't that Mark didn't know how to be in charge, it was just that Gary seemed infinitely better at it, especially in times of extreme crisis like this. He could always be counted on to be unflappable, to come up with the best solution to a problem, and if that didn't work then it was okay because he had dozens of other ideas that would get them out of any situation. Mark wished he was like that.

More than that, he wished _his_ Gary was there, too. He'd know what to do, or at least he'd know how to make it look that way. Everything always felt that much calmer when Gary was around.

Still, Mark was technically the older man at the moment, he was the one who knew how things had to pan out in the long run and he, rather startlingly, was the one with the professional experience. Therefore, it made sense that he was the one who had to take the responsibility for their next actions.

"We do exactly what we did before," he said, as confident as he dared. "Look up Howard in the phonebook and call his house, see if we can find out where he is. Then we get to him any way we can, try and convince him, tell him about the audition, shower him with compliments about his dancing if we need to. Essentially we do whatever we can, Gary, because we have to get him to that audition if it kills us."

"I'd rather it didn't."

"Me too," Mark agreed. "But we have to do our best, right? Whatever he says, we don't let him go until we've got him to agree, and that goes for Rob and me as well. We need all five of us to be on board, our futures depend on it."

"I know, I know, you keep reminding me. I tell you, my future better had be as good as you say, because thus far the only good thing that's happened since meeting you, has been meeting you."

It took him a second to make sense of it, but once Gary's words had sunk in deep enough, Mark had to smile.

"Well, it's been good getting to know young-Gary again," he said. "I love you however old you are, but there's something about seeing your partner at his young, egotistical stage, to make you appreciate who he is now. Not that it isn't weird, but it's quite nice as well."

"Egotistical?" Gary questioned, with a frown. "I'm not egotistical, am I?"

"You kind of are," Mark said, softly. "But you have the right to be, with your talent. And you definitely grow out of it... mostly."

He didn't have time to elaborate further, as a red double-decker swung around the corner and pulled up next to them.

It was only ten minutes late.


	9. Making Good Progress

~

They found Howard almost straight away, but it was only due to pure luck that they did.

The number twenty-six bus was busy - but not stiflingly so - and filled with people in suits on their way to work. At each stop a large number of them got off, and thirty minutes into their journey the woman who had been sitting in front of them did so too. She had been reading the local newspaper and left it behind on her seat, and Gary took it to flick through as they made the long journey towards Droylsden. Mark glanced over his shoulder as he turned the pages, reading the headlines and scanning the pictures - and that was when he spotted the advert.

"Ah, that's it!" he jabbed at it excitedly with his index finger, nearly causing Gary to lose his grip on the paper. "That's where Howard worked!"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure! My memory isn't _that_ bad, you know."

Gary smirked. "No, because you're not old."

"Shut up. C'mon, we should get ready to get off, so we can work out where we're supposed to be going. Knowing the name of the garage is one thing, but I've got no idea where it is. What I wouldn't give for my Sat Nav..."

Mark pressed the bell, and when the bus pulled over they hopped off and immediately began to ask pedestrians for directions. Most of them were apologetic but unhelpful, which wasn't all that surprising, really. If they'd been asking for the way to the local supermarket or swimming pool, Mark would've expected someone to at least have half an idea. But a random garage?

Eventually, they struck gold with a middle aged man in a Hawaiian shirt, who could tell them, down to the name of the street, exactly where they needed to be. It meant getting another bus, but Mark would've walked there if he had to (and if he didn't have Gary moaning that his feet were sore).

When they got arrived, Mark half considered asking what they could do for a clapped out Datsun Cherry with the optional 'time machine' feature installed, but thought he'd better not. Maybe one day he'd ask Howard his opinion on the matter, preferably after he'd sunk quite a few pints and was happy enough to listen to Mark ramble on about time circuits.

"Alright," Mark said to Gary as they walked up towards the garage. "Just stay cool, do exactly what you did with Jay, and we'll be fine."

The foreman was working in the office, and listened carefully whilst Gary explained who they were there to see. After thinking for a moment, he nodded, took them around to the workshop, and pointed in the direction of Howard.

Mark physically recoiled as they approached. Howard looked _so_ young, even younger than Jason had, and Mark couldn't quite process what he was seeing. Maybe it was the oil smeared over his face like a mucky toddler, or maybe it was his denim overalls, but either way Mark was having a hard time believing he was the twenty-one year old Howard Donald he'd known and loved. His name badge confirmed it, though.

"Howard?" Mark asked as they got within a few yards. Even then the machinery was deafening, and he had to shout to be heard. "Are you Howard?"

Nodding, Howard put down the hubcap he was polishing. "Yeah, who's asking?"

They tried valiantly to explain themselves for a good minute, but in the end they admitted defeat. Howard put his fingers to his ears and shook his head, pointing to the door with his elbow. He wiped his hands on his overalls as he went outside, with Mark following and Gary trailing close behind.

"Sorry about that lads, you sort of get used to the noise after awhile," he said, before cocking his head to the side. "So... who are you?"

"That's not important," Mark told him, trying to sound firm but friendly. "All that matters right now is you, Howard. You dance, don't you? Breakdancing and stuff?"

Howard shrugged. It was nonchalant, but Mark could see a tiny bit of pride seeping through that tough exterior. "Yeah, sometimes."

"The thing is, we already knew that, _and_ we know that you're good - brilliant, in fact."

Mark nudged Gary in the ribs to remind him that he was, after all, supposed to be doing the majority of the talking.

"Oh, yeah," Gary nodded, suddenly coming to his senses. "You're excellent. You should be in a boyband, Howard."

It took Howard a second to take Gary's words in, and he stood on the pavement, blinking at them in surprise. "Well, I've never heard that one before, I'll give you that."

"No, seriously." Gary glanced at Mark briefly, knowing this mostly rested on his shoulders and feeling anxious about it going wrong because of him. Mark felt sorry for him, but there wasn't much he could do about it other than provide supportive looks. If it went well, he'd thank him later. "I'm a singer, see, and I've got this audition thing on Saturday morning..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his notebook, on which he'd scribbled down the details in triplicate. Tearing the page out, he gave it to Howard. "But it's for a boyband, and I'm not a boyband, not by myself. But you could be part of it, and it'd be worth your while, trust me."

Howard stared at the page in front of him, as if he was willing the words written in Gary's scrawly handwriting to suddenly start making sense and explain what these two freaks were talking about.

"It's true," Mark said, deciding to help him along. What could it hurt? "And there's already another guy, Jason Orange. He's going along."

"Jason Orange?"

"Yeah! He's a dancer, and he's a really, _really_ good one."

"I've heard of him," Howard glanced up at them. "And you say he's going to be there? I can't compete with him." He held the paper out, wanting them to take it back, but neither of them moved a muscle. "He's one of the best; he's been on TV and everything."

"No no no!" Mark said, beginning to panic but simultaneously trying not to let it show. "You'll be fantastic too. I'm sure you can sing well enough, and you've got just the right look. You'll be great, you'll _walk_ the audition, seriously."

It seemed like he was melting, but Howard didn't look all that convinced.

"How do I know this isn't just bullshit?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "You won't even tell me your names, for God's sake!"

Mark wrung his hands behind his back, his palms now more than a little bit sweaty. They were losing him, and they were doing so at an alarming rate. Somehow, someway, they had to get him back. "This is Gary, and that's the main thing," he said. "He's a fantastic singer and songwriter. He can't dance, though, so you're gonna have to pick up the slack, there."

Gary looked like he was about to protest against this attack on his dancing abilities, but thought better of it and gave a quick nod instead. "It's true. Look, if you don't believe us then go and ring the agent, he'll confirm it. His number's on there, okay?"

Still frowning in disbelief, Howard said that he would do just that, and if it turned out to be for real then he promised that he'd go. Mark made him hold up his hands and swear on his life, and after a moment Howard did so. Then his foreman arrived and ordered him back to work and, with a final glance at Mark and Gary - checking them for straitjackets or something - he went back to his hubcaps, the piece of paper sticking out of the top pocket of his overalls.

They left the garage feeling more than a little bit pleased with themselves.

~

"We still need to get an advert in the newspaper."

The bus towards Stoke was taking its sweet time arriving, and Mark was resting his head against the plastic of the bus stop, casually praying: _just please let this work, please let everything go back to normal._

Gary's voice brought him back to reality, as Gary's voice often did.

"Hmm? Sorry, I was miles away. What did you say, mate?"

"Think about it: we told Jason that there was going to be an advert in the papers over the next few days, didn't we? We'll need to do that or he won't come, and then our whole bloody future will come crashing down around our ears, or whatever."

"Shit." Mark rubbed his temples. "No, hold on a minute, we don't have to do that at all. We can ring him and give him the number of the agent, tell him to check it out for himself. He likes doing things his own way, Jason does, so he'll lap that right up. What's the guy's name, by the way?"

Gary took his notebook out again and flipped through it until he reached the right place, passing pages and pages of unfinished lyrics (Mark recognised a few of them). 

"Tim," he said, when he found what he was looking for. "Tim Preston. I've never heard of him before, but he seemed like a good enough bloke on the phone to me. Then again, so did Nigel and look how that ended up."

Mark smiled and put his arm around Gary's shoulders. "Don't worry Gaz, we were all completely taken in by Nigel at first. He's that kind of person: charismatic, charming, good at getting people on his side. Christ, when you're as young as that and a bloke promises he can make you rich and famous and then actually _does it_ , you sorta take what he says as the truth, don't you? He was an arse, don't get me wrong, but he was an arse who knew what he was doing - for the most part."

Placated, Gary sat back against the plastic behind him. He fiddled with the piece of paper in his hands, turning it over and over, wanting to say something but not sure how to get it out. Mark knew that look well.

"D'you reckon..." He paused, looking for the right word. "D'you reckon it'll work? If we're not going with Nigel, that is. What if this Tim Preston isn't as good as him, what if it doesn't work out?"

Mark didn't know the answer to that one. In the last few days he'd felt like he didn't know the answer to that many things, even things he thought he had a reasonably good handle on before. That overarching feeling of responsibility was back, and he gave Gary's knee a gentle squeeze. He had to try.

"Hey, that's not for you to worry about Gaz, okay? I'm the one who fucked this up, not you." He sighed. "And if it doesn't work out then I guess I'll have to come back to the past again, and try not to ruin things next time."

"Why don't you just do that? Go back and stop yourself from stopping me meeting Nigel?"

Mark gazed at the ground. It was a fair point, and one he'd not thought too much about. Now he was thinking about it, however, he knew exactly why, and he was definitely, definitely doing the right thing. He probably wasn't going about it in the best way, but it was a bit late to change that side of things. All he could do was press on and hope for the best.

"I guess I wanted to see if we can make things better. Maybe not in terms of how successful we are, but in terms of us not going crazy, not falling apart like we did back then. I told you about all of the shit that goes on later in our lives, and now I've got the chance to change things, for the better and for all five of us. Wouldn't you take it if it was you?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

There were so many things Mark wanted to change, so many things he wanted to stop from happening, so many things he wanted to be better. But there was one thing he wanted to keep the same, because some days it was the only thing that mattered to him, and was the only thing to keep him going.

"If the audition doesn't work out and we don't end up like we are in my time, then you have to promise me something, crossing your heart and all of that." Mark stared into Gary's eyes, overcome with a need to drive his point home. "You have to promise that we'll still know each other, right, no matter what happens with the band? You and me - you and 1989 Mark, I mean. You have to get on with him as best you can, because I just can't lose you, Gaz, I'd never forgive myself if I lost you."

"I'll try my best, Mark."

Mark didn't have much choice other than to accept that. What else could Gary say? That he would do everything in his power to make sure they ended up like Mark said? That would be asking way too much. Gary didn't know their history. He didn't know about their inside jokes, he didn't know how to put up with all of Mark's quirks (or how to try and disguise his own), he didn't know how they liked to squabble over petty things and make it better by having make-up sex on top of the piano, he didn't know how they celebrated when things were going well, and he didn't know about how much they held onto one another when the world felt like it was falling apart. 

He was just a kid, technically, so young and so naive about everything. Mark felt a tug of love as he looked at him – eighteen year old Gary, a mix of confidence and nerves, blond hair not quite dyed to full platinum status yet – and he realised just how much he needed him. 

And if Gary said that he'd do his best, then Mark had to believe it. So now it all depended, really, on how 1989 Mark reacted to him.

There was no way Mark would let his younger self mess this up. Even if he had to hunt him down wearing a balaclava and putting on a voice, he was going to make sure that he spoke to him personally, telling him that Gary was the perfect catch, everything he'd ever want and more, and if he didn't worship the ground he walked on he was a damn fool. Put the fear of God in him, that would do the trick. And if it didn't, he'd think of something else.

"Hey, is that a bus?" Gary asked, pointing past Mark and down the hill. "Yeah, it is. C'mon, we'd better not let it drive past, they're for that awful around here and there won't be another one for an hour at least."

When the bus pulled up, they both hopped onto it and bought yet another ticket each. Mark was beginning to miss his Oyster card.

The bus was packed full, so they had to stand for most of the way. As it swung around the corner, an elderly lady's apples spilled out of her loosely closed shopping trolley, and they helped her pick them up. When the headphone wearing teenager sitting next to her got off, Gary instructed Mark to take his seat.

"C'mon, rest those bones," he teased. "You'll need your energy for the rest of the day."

Mark laughed, but he didn't argue. He _was_ tired. It'd been a long day and they weren't even half-way through it, yet. The seat was hard but he sunk into it gratefully, wishing he could rub his spine without it provoking even more old-man jokes. Out of instinct he almost asked Gary if he wanted to sit on his lap, but remembered before he let the words out.

"Are you brothers? Or cousins?" the lady asked Mark, indicating Gary. He was staring at an advertisement for hair-loss prevention, and Mark didn't laugh, although he wanted to.

Instead, he turned to the woman and smiled. "No," he said. "We're just very good friends."

"Ah, I see," she said. "He's a nice looking young lad, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is," Mark agreed. "And I tell you what, he's a brilliant singer, too."

"Really? What's his name?"

"Gary Barlow," Mark told her. Gary turned his head when he heard his name. "He's going to be famous, one day, you mark my words."

"I see. Well, I'll definitely keep my eye out for him. Gary Barlow, you say?"

"Yep. He's gonna be in a boyband with four other lads, mind you, but Gary's definitely the talent. Though, saying that, there's gonna be this little one - he's very cute, so he'll probably be the most popular out of all of them."

Mark didn't give Gary any time to respond to this, standing up and taking him by the arm, grinning.

"C'mon Gaz, this is our stop."

Once the bus had driven away, Gary chuckled. " _Probably be the most popular out of all of them..._ You smug bastard."

"Hey, I get my kicks where I can," Mark told him. "And I can't help it if it's true. Although maybe it won't turn out like that if we change things, and I'll be something else and one of you lot can be the cute one." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, I'd be quite happy if I could avoid all of those fans camping outside my Mum's house, and I'm sure she'd agree with that."

Gary's eyes boggled. "Eh? Camping outside the house?"

"Ah, you'll find out soon enough if we're successful. Now, which bus do we get from here?"

They were only about three quarters of the way there, which was depressing. Trudging to Stoke and back wasn't high up on his list of priorities, and Mark longed to be in his own house with a cup of tea and a biscuit, Gary twittering on about lyrics and effects pedals. But it wasn't to be and it had to be done, because the band without Rob would be no band at all, no matter what. Mark knew that things wouldn't work without the five of them being there from the start, and he didn't want to start messing with the system. He'd done enough of that already, and really didn't have the energy to fix anything else.

To their shared relief, the bus to Stoke actually arrived on time, and wasn't too full. They were only on it for half an hour or so, and that was quite long enough for Mark. If only they hadn't missed the train, which was bound to be quicker and marginally more comfortable. They were definitely going to be on time for it on the way home, he decided that then and there. But if the bus could get them there in one piece, they couldn't ask for much more.

Arriving in the centre of town wasn't the cause for celebration they'd imagined, however. Stoke was big - bigger than Mark remembered, and it hadn't been _that_ long since he'd been there. Perhaps it was the lack of fancy office blocks, but it somehow seemed more open and more green, with plenty of places for Rob to be hiding in.

"Where do we go first?" Gary asked. "Do you know Stoke at all?"

"Not really, no. I mean, I've been here a few times, with the band and visiting Rob and that, but it's been a good few years since I really looked around. Do you know it?"

Gary shook his head. "Never been here before, if I'm honest."

"Right. Great. Well, I guess we just start looking. But there's something else we've got to do, first."

They found a phonebox not far from the bus stop, and squished into it. Mark had forgotten how cramped they were, and he noticed that Gary was pressed up against him more than necessary, but he didn't question it. In fact, it made him smile more than it should've.

_ Pull yourself together _ , he scolded. _Graham was right, he's far too young for you, and he's not_ your _Gary. Don't blow this, you'll be back together soon enough and you can touch him all you want!_

To distract himself from the eighteen year old ( _eighteen, Mark, less than half your age, stop it!_ ) pressed up against him in the impossibly tiny space, Mark began flicking through the phonebook, searching for Jason's number. This time, someone picked up the phone after only one ring, which didn't give Mark all that much time to decide what he was going to say.

"Hello?"

Mark floundered for a second, then regained control of himself. "Hi, is that Jenny?"

"Yes, who's speaking, please?"

"This is... I mean, I'm a friend of your son," he said. Then he remembered that Jenny had more than one of those. "Jason, I mean. I'm Jason's friend. Is he there?"

"Yes, hold on a second."

"Thanks."

She went away to fetch Jason. Mark heard her calling his name, heard him shout back that he'd be right there, and then a moment later heard a crackle as he picked up the phone and brought it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Jason, hi. It's Mark – remember, from the other day? I'm one of the, er, crazy guys from the restaurant."

"Oh yeah, the boyband thing." Jason made a noise that sounded a bit like a sigh. "Let me guess, it's off?"

"No!" Mark said. "It's definitely on, there's just been a bit of a change of plan and I wanted to let you know. The advert won't be in the paper after all, but I've got the address of where the audition is being held, and an official date and time. I can even give you their number and you can call them yourself to check it out, if you wanted to."

After ensuring that Jason had a pen and piece of paper, Mark gave him the details, going slowly so that Jason had time to write them down.

"Alright, I'll do that," he said, clicking his pen off again. "This had better not be a wind up, though."

"It's not, I promise you." 

Then, Mark had a flash of genius, like he did every now and then. It was a little bit cheeky, but if it worked then it'd be worth it, and if not then it didn't matter. He was willing to take the chance.

"Listen, do you know a bloke called Howard Donald, by any chance?"

A pause, before: "I know of him, yeah; he's a breakdancer, somewhere up Droylsden way."

"That's the one! He's gonna be there, at the audition on Saturday. We went to see him this morning, and he said he would go along and check it out – mainly because you're going."

"Wow. Seriously? Huh." Jason sounded fairly chuffed, but like he was trying (badly) to hide it. "Okay, I'll give 'em a call now, see what's what. I'm not making any promises, though."

"No, of course not. Thanks Jay. _Jason_. You won't regret this, I guarantee it."

Mark hung up, and turned around, his face closer to Gary's than he'd realised. Their noses were practically touching, in a way that they had done many times before, only this time Mark wanted to pull away, if only to preserve his sanity.

"Well, that's all done," he said, attempting to keep his tone upbeat as he manoeuvred gingerly around Gary and opened the door. "Now we've just got Rob to find."

Gary followed him out onto the street. "And you," he said. "We've got to find you as well."

"Yeah, and me. Not today, though, I don't think I'm up to meeting my younger self when I haven't had time to prepare. I'm hungry, too. Shall we find something to eat before we go looking?"

"Oh God, please!" Gary begged, rubbing his stomach. "I didn't want to say anything earlier, but I'm bloody starving!"

Mark checked his watch and smiled. It was precisely twelve o'clock, bang on the dot for Gary to start getting peckish. For his Gary that would usually mean reaching for an avocado or an egg, but Mark got the feeling this Gary would be looking for something a little more substantial.

"C'mon then, let's look for somewhere to get some lunch. I tell you what though, I'm not having an oatcake. Rob made me try one once and it was disgusting."

They walked for ages, stopping at every restaurant they came across and peering at the menu, before deciding it wasn't quite what they were looking for, or completely out of their current price range (there were a lot of those). Mark wished he could just pop into a supermarket and grab a Meal Deal, but this suggestion was met by a blank look from Gary.

In the end, they found a greasy spoon tucked in between a hardware store and a dry cleaners, and ordered two bacon sandwiches and a pot of tea. They were told it'd be a few minutes, and Mark took the time to watch the other patrons as they waited, wondering where they'd be and what they'd be doing by the time he made his way back to 2012, if he ever managed made his way back to 2012.

There was a young couple with a pink pram, the tiny baby tucked up inside no more than a few weeks old. She'd be twenty-three, now, he realised, and that made everything feel even stranger than it did already.

"You alright?"

"Hmm? Yeah, sorry." Mark said, not able to tear his eyes away from the little family, who were so young and in love with each other and their daughter. "I hope she has a good life, y'know?" he explained. "I hope nothing too bad happens to her over the next twenty odd years. I hope she grows up well."

"I'm sure she will," Gary said. The tea arrived and he started pouring Mark a cup, then one for himself. "They look happy enough to me. Look how much they're smiling."

Mark sighed. "A lot of things can happen in twenty-three years, Gaz, good and bad. We can't escape from them, no matter how hard we try or how lucky we are. I hate to say it, but you'll understand one day. Not everything goes right in life."

"I know," Gary said. "I don't expect everything to be handed to me or anything, and I'm ready for whatever setbacks and problems might be in my future. I can handle it." When he smiled, it was almost shy. "And if I've got you by my side then I don't see how I can fail."

Automatically, Mark slid his hand across the sticky table and covered Gary's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He was so unspeakably glad that Gary had accepted their relationship without too much questioning, because he could cope without the band, the fame, the money, but a life without Gaz was unthinkable. There was no way that was going to happen; Mark knew that his younger self would fall for Gary, just as he had done when they first met. And, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair in a grotty little café in Stoke, Mark thought he'd started to do so all over again.

But that was highly inappropriate, so he took his hand away and started stirring his tea, ignoring the tremble in his fingers. Meanwhile, Gary stared at his hand and didn't move a muscle, the shy smile on his face now a huge grin.

"C'mon, drink up," Mark said, to distract himself as well as distracting Gary. "We need to think about making a move fairly soon, or we might miss Rob." He paused, and chuckled to himself. "God, that makes me sound like I actually know what I'm talking about, like I've got some sort of bloody plan, doesn't it?"

Gary did what he was told and gulped his tea down. "Where're we going to look?" he asked. "D'you know where he lives?"

"Yeah, I think I remember where his Mum's house is, and that's probably the best bet. We can at least go and talk to her, ask her where he is if he isn't there." Mark mulled this over for a second. "Maybe you should do it, though, his Mum might be a bit concerned about a forty year old looking for her son."

"The other Mums weren't."

"No, but I only spoke to them on the phone," Mark pointed out. "Well, expect yours, but Marge is a different kettle of fish altogether. If I show up on the doorstep, Jan might take exception to me demanding to know where her little boy is. She's quite protective, see, and Rob's not even sixteen yet, which is quite a lot younger than you three. So it's got to be you, Gaz, and ideally I should stay out of sight entirely until you've got whatever info you can from her."

Gary agreed with this, even though Mark could tell he didn't like the idea. Still, he cheered up when his bacon sandwich arrived, and they both scoffed them far too fast, neither thinking about the indigestion that was likely to follow.

There wasn't enough time to worry about things like that, not when they had a plan to put in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any delays over the next few weeks, not only have I just started my Camp NaNo for July 2017, I'm also having laptop issues. I've got a few chapters ready to go so hopefully it won't be an issue :)


	10. A Watched Pot

~

"God, that was good," Gary said, patting his stomach appreciatively after he finished the last bite of his sandwich. "I love lunch."

Mark chuckled. "I know. You usually say it's your favourite meal of the day, except for breakfast and dinner."

"Hey, that's true! A good breakfast sets you up for the morning, then lunch does the same for the afternoon. Dinner is like a reward you get for surviving that long, and keeps you going until bedtime. It's just logical. The more you tell me about my older self, the more I think I must have some sort of hidden genius, buried underneath the dashing good looks and awesome piano playing abilities."

"I'm not going to argue with that, mate. Well, not the good looks and the piano playing bit, anyway."

After paying the bill and leaving the biggest tip they could afford between them, they headed out into the street so that Mark could attempt to get his bearings. Although he knew roughly where Rob's house was he wasn't sure of the exact location - what he really needed was a landmark, something he recognised. There was a fancy old church somewhere nearby, he was willing to stake money on that, but otherwise it was a total blur. Was it even a house? Maybe it had been a flat, or a bungalow, or a fucking caravan for all Mark could remember. No, it was definitely a house because Mark had a clear image of standing at the front door and seeing Rob's feet appear at the top of the stairs. So it was definitely on two levels, which narrowed it down slightly, but that didn't help with the problem of location.

As it turned out, having a mental image of the building Rob lived in wasn't all that helpful, because they couldn't go somewhere if they didn't have a clue where it was in the world.

"Let's just start walking," Mark said, taking the initiative. "Maybe I'll see something else that might trigger my memory and we can go from there." 

He sighed heavily, his hands squarely on his hips as he glanced up and down the street, trying to decide which way to go for the best. It didn't really matter - they were unlikely to find him whichever way they went, and would probably have to resort to calling his house like they'd done before. Mark didn't want to do that if he could help it, having realised the risk it posed. He'd already spoken to two of their Mums, and he wasn't going to let a third get involved except as their very last option.

Jan was a florist, he knew that for a fact, and she owned a little shop on one of the many high streets. If they could find that, he could send Gary in under the guise of being one of Rob's mates, and find out his whereabouts like that. It was asking an awful lot of Gary, especially as there was no concrete proof that Mark wasn't a raving lunatic who just so happened to know about his crippling fear of horses, but this wasn't the time for guilt to be setting in.

They walked and walked, until Mark's legs were aching and Gary was begging for them to take a break and have another cup of tea. Mark had to ignore both things, fully aware that if he stopped and succumbed to sitting down, he might never get back up again. He had to keep going until he'd tracked Rob down, even if it did end up being the death of them both.

"What about that park?" Gary asked, pointing to a set of heavy iron gates. "Does that ring a bell? And even if it doesn't, can we _please_ go in and sit down on a bloody bench for a couple of minutes? My feet feel like they're on fire, and I'm not exaggerating."

Mark looked at the park, and then at Gary. He didn't recognise it in the slightest, but he did feel a tremendous amount of pity for the man standing next to him, gasping for a cuppa and a sit down.

"It doesn't ring any bells, no." He took one last look at Gary's doleful expression, before shaking his head fondly and giving in entirely. "Let's have a walk through it, though. I could do with a break from the city, and maybe we'll find somewhere to think for a bit, or at least take the weight off for awhile."

Gary looked as if he was going to cry with sheer, unreserved joy.

The park was pretty, but fairly small and packed with people - kids on their summer holidays, parents setting up picnics on the grass, siblings bickering over who was going to have the last cake. It was comforting to see that things carried on as normal, no matter what Mark was dealing with.

When they came to a small, unused cluster of benches in the very middle, they squashed onto the end of one so they could have a rest. It felt like they'd been walking for hours, and when Mark looked at his watch he saw that it was true - three hours, to be precise, although his legs were trying to convince him it had been much longer. He didn't want to let it show, but he was losing hope, and fast.

Gary cleared his throat. "So... What does Rob look like, then?" Mark shot him a quizzical look, and he shrugged. "I might be able to help identify him, if we pass him on the street or something. Four eyes would be better than two, right?"

_ Not a bad idea _ , Mark thought. _But how to describe Rob?_

"He's tall, about the same height as Jason and Howard - taller than both of us, anyway. Dark hair, grey-ish eyes, I think. T-shirt, jeans and a baseball cap. He's got... oh no, he won't have the scar on his head, yet."

"Scar?"

Unable to stop himself, Mark chuckled. "Yeah, for Howard's birthday one year we all got blind drunk and Rob fell headfirst into this shallow fountain in the middle of Italy. Well, he sort of dived in of his own accord, rather than fell in. That was the kind of thing he liked to do back then, and we all egged him on of course, as you do when you're eighteen. Mind you, it wasn't too funny at the time, especially afterwards. There was blood everywhere, he had to go to hospital to get it stitched up, and Nigel had a bloody shitfit, which I suppose was fair enough. Poor Rob. He was fine, though, and he learnt to stay away from fountains, shallow or not."

"He sounds like a laugh."

"He was. He still is. He's always been my best mate - in the band, at least. We understood each other straight away, and we bonded over being the youngest, as well as neither of us having a fucking clue what we were doing. Howard and Jay were together all the time for the dancing, so it all fell into place."

Gary wasn't smiling anymore. "What about me?"

There was something so quiet, so disheartened, about the way he said it, and Mark felt his heart shatter instantly. He shuffled as close to Gary as he dared, and patted his shoulder.

"Hey, it's not like that Gaz, not at all," he said, softly. "That sort of thing happens when there's five of you, y'know? It's an odd number so it doesn't divide up neatly, but the five of us were and still are best friends underneath it all. You're going to be busy with writing and recording, and there's not much for the rest of us to do in the very beginning, so we sort of paired off."

Gary nodded, now looking down at his feet. "When you told me about the boyband thing, I was worried it would end up like that, with someone being singled out on his own. Hoped it wouldn't be me."

"You're kind of married to the music, mate, you always have been."

"I don't mean to be." Gary turned his head and fixed Mark with a serious stare. "It's not the only thing in my life."

"I know it isn't, and it won't be. You've got a lot of other interests, and a lot of friends. Then there's all of your charity work, and the TV stuff you do. Trust me, you've got a full and busy life, with plenty going on." After a moment, he added: "And you've got me, as well."

A smile spread over Gary's face, and he looked a lot happier than he had done a few seconds ago. "Good," he said. "I guess I don't need anything else, if that's the case." He was joking, Mark could tell, but his words still meant a lot.

"Nah, all you need is me and a Mars Bar, and you're set for life."

"Can I exchange that for a Twix?"

Now that their legs were feeling better they were ready to get up and walk again, although this time they weren't as desperate to find Rob. Instead, they were enjoying being together, neither of them caring all that much about how old they were. They were still Mark and Gary, still the same people with the same feelings, and the same mutual attraction. The only difference was that Mark had been through twenty-three years of life with Gary, whereas Gary had only had three days with Mark.

There was a stone path running around the perimeter of the park, and they stuck to that as they made their way towards the exit, chatting about nothing in particular. Mark was so busy telling Gary about his love of Elvis Presley that he wasn't paying attention to what was in front of him, and Gary had to physically pull him out of the way of a teenage boy on rollerblades, who was hurtling towards them at an alarming speed.

"Fuck!" Gary cried as the boy hit the ground with a loud, sickening crunch. They rushed over and helped him to his feet, checking him over for cuts, scrapes and broken bones. "You alright, lad?"

The boy bent over and dusted himself off, holding onto Mark's arm with one hand as he brushed the dusty earth from his legs.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Cheers for that - I just nicked these bloody things from my sister this morning and I haven't quite got the hang of how to make them stop, yet. Sorry about nearly crashing into you and everything, I'm sure I'll work 'em out in a bit, preferably before I take out the whole park."

Wobbling, he straightened up, and that was when Mark saw his face and got the shock of his bloody life. _Maybe_ , he thought, _we were close to where we needed to be after all._

"Rob?" he asked, tentatively, fully aware that he could've been mistaken, but ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that he wasn't. When the boy looked alarmed, Mark breathed a sigh of unmitigated relief.

"How d'you know my name?"

Mark couldn't think of a plausible answer, so he decided to pass over the question entirely and press forwards with the issue at hand. "You _are_ Robbie Williams, aren't you?"

Rob nodded, terrified. Gary, on the other hand, was amazed.

"Coincidence of a lifetime!" Mark beamed. "Rob, I know you're confused, but I swear you don't need to worry. This is Gary." Gary gave a meek wave, and Rob gave him a nod in return (not taking his terror-stricken eyes away from Mark lest he should do something heinous). "He's a singer."

"That's... nice? Good for you, mate. Well done."

Mark charged on. "He's going to be the lead singer of a pop band," he said. "And you'd be perfect for it."

Rob, who had been glancing around as if trying to find an escape route, was obviously taken by surprise by this statement. He halted his getaway plans and instead stared at Mark like he had six heads.

"Eh?! I'm no singer," he said. "Well, I have a go in the shower and that, but a band? I don't think so. Impressions are more my thing, with the odd bit of standup comedy thrown in every now and then, if I'm feeling brave enough."

"No, he's right," Gary said, resuming his role of spokesperson. "You'd be great, you've got that certain something." He fished around in his pocket again until he found another piece of paper, identical to the one he'd given to Howard, and handed it over. "That's the details - at least consider it, yeah?"

Nervously, Rob took it and read it to himself, looking back up at them when he'd finished.

"It's on Saturday?" Rob asked. "Sorry, the Vale are playing on Saturday, and I never miss a match unless it's life or death, so I'll have to give it a miss this time."

Mark, in a risky move that took even him by surprise, grabbed hold of Rob's wrist and grasped it firmly, fixing him with a stern stare. "Now, you listen to me, Rob. Missing one match won't kill you, it won't affect your life. But this will. If this takes off I can't even explain what it'll do for you, you couldn't even begin to understand right now. I know you want to give your Mum and sister a better life, and if you take this chance then you'll be able to do that in a matter of months. So you go to this audition, right? Promise me that you'll go?"

Dumbfounded, Rob nodded. "Okay. But only for my Mum and sist- Wait, how did you know I had a sister?"

Ever valiant, Gary leapt in to help at once. "You told us, you said you nicked those skates from her this morning." Mark shot him a grateful look. "So, we'll... I mean, I'll see you on Saturday, then. You can call the number to check if you want to, but it's real and you have my word on that."

"Okay. _Okay_ , I'll be there."

After making him promise a few more times, Mark let go of Rob's wrist so that he could speed off into the distance, in a hurry to get away from the crazy bloke and his much more sensible young friend. He wobbled on his way, but managed to get to the park's gates without falling over, and then they lost sight of him.

Mark felt another weight lift from his mind.

"God, we're nearly there!" he said, slinging an arm around Gary's shoulder. "Four down, only me to go. That's going to be difficult, I have a feeling."

Gary shrugged, but he was smiling. "We've come this far, I reckon we'll be okay. You know, you can be quite persuasive when you want to be, Mark."

"Ah, it's something I've learnt from you over the years. I should probably warn you, you should be prepared for a Mark who isn't anywhere near as extroverted as I am now. When I was seventeen I was quite shy, and a real worrier."

But then, he thought to himself as they made their way back to the bus stop, who isn't?

~

With Marge still out shopping and Colin and Ian both at work, they arrived back to an empty house. They sunk gratefully onto the sofa and grinned at one another.

"House to ourselves," Mark said, "I feel like I'm eighteen again!"

"I _am_ eighteen," Gary pointed out, grinning. "So it must be weirder for you."

"Definitely weirder for me. I mean, we've lived together for well over a decade so I'm used to us being alone in _our_ house, but this is your _parents'_ house, y'know? It's been a long time since we've been alone together in your _parents'_ house, on your _parents'_ sofa."

Mark remembered only too well the last time they'd been alone in the Barlow Bungalow, and he especially remembered them almost being caught right in the middle of it. That wasn't going to happen this time, because they were both going to stay in their clothes and Mark was going to keep his hands to himself.

"Anyway, I should go and call Graham, ask him to pick me up before it gets too late."

"No," Gary said. "Don't go, yet. Stay for a bit."

And, just like that, Mark stayed exactly where he was. There was no way he could ever resist that sad little face, and as long as they stuck to safe, innocent activities, Mark couldn't see the harm in sticking around for another hour or so.

Perhaps picking up on the uneasy vibes Mark was radiating, Gary suggested that they watched TV for awhile, and picked up the remote to start flicking through the limited selection of channels. He eventually settled on an old episode of _Star Trek_ which Mark, although not personally interested, knew almost off by heart. It was new to Gary though, so Mark didn't say anything to ruin the story for him. In fact, he didn't watch much of it at all.

Instead, he watched Gary. It was far more rewarding. 

He was exactly the same Gary that Mark had been snuggled up with in front of their own television, a few short days (sort of) ago. The way his eyes creased at the corners when he was enjoying what was happening, his serious frown when he was confused over a plot point. There may have been less in the way of wrinkles and facial hair, but there was no mistaking this man for Gary Barlow. Up until now, Mark had been wondering if this was some sort of hideous fever dream, and watching Gary watch _Star Trek_ was the moment in which he realised it couldn't be.

"Mark? Why're you staring at me?"

Gary's bemused voice snapped Mark away from his thoughts, and he saw that the episode had already finished.

"Sorry," he said, feeling silly. "I suppose I was just thinking about my Gary, and how hard it's been without him. Hanging out with you is great but it's not the same, like something's missing, something I couldn't explain even if I wanted to. And the stress of getting everything sorted out doesn't help matters, especially because he's not here for me to turn to, even though you're right _there_. Does that make any sense or do I just sound insane?"

"No, it makes sense. D'you miss him? Er, me?"

"Of course I do, but it's okay. I know I'm going to see him soon, and for now I've got you, which is practically the same thing except you haven't gone through his life, yet. You've got an awful lot of surprises ahead of you, Gaz."

Gary turned the television off, throwing the remote onto the coffee table and turning to face Mark. He pulled his legs up underneath him, as if he was settling in for a long time. "Yeah, like what?"

Mark shook his head. "You know I can't tell you anything about the future."

"You say that all the time and then end up telling me anyway," Gary said, rolling his eyes. "And I won't let it change me – surely if you tell me the good stuff it'll make me more likely to go down those paths when it comes to it?"

"Ah, but you don't know that," Mark said. "Right now you're thinking that you'll do whatever I say you will, but when you get there you might feel differently if you know the outcome. Some of the good things we have came from really shit situations, things we had to suffer through. Not everything that happens in your life is positive, Gaz, and I don't want to give you the impression that it is."

"I get that, but you could tell me a few more things... Nothing important!"

"But we don't know what's important and what isn't, do we? Not for certain! The tiniest decision could result in a completely different life, couldn't it? It can come down to the simplest thing, like what shirt you wear or how you shake someone's hand, or what you say and when. I wish I could tell you, honestly I do, but I can't risk our futures like that. Letting it slip accidentally is one thing, but telling you on purpose? No, I can't so that."

Gary sighed, but seemed to understand what he was saying. Mark was about to add something else in an attempt to buck him up a bit, but before he could Gary opened his eyes wide and stared at him, panicked.

"What the _fuck_ am I going to wear to the audition?!"

~

In Gary's bedroom, Mark had his head buried as deep as it would go in the wardrobe, pushing and pulling things around as he searched. There were some truly awful items in there, some he remembered and some he didn't but, try as he might, he couldn't find the exact clothes that he remembered Gary wearing at the audition.

His image of Gary from that day was so vivid and clear, it was no wonder that all other details about his past were sort of fuzzy. It was the only thing he could recall with absolute clarity, and he would've bet his life on it. Once again, knowing what he was searching for didn't help him to find it.

Perched on the edge of his bed, Gary waited patiently. "Just a thought, but if you told me what you were looking for I might be able to help, considering it's my wardrobe you're ripping apart and all."

Mark stopped his frantic search and turned around, hands on his hips. "You were wearing tight black jeans, a dark blue shirt with black stripes, and black boots." He glanced over his shoulder into the wardrobe, bending down to pick a pair up. "These ones."

Gary stared at the shoes Mark was brandishing at him. "Yeah? You're sure?"

"I'm positive. And you'll end up regretting it when you have to dance."

" _Dance_? I swear, Mark, I'm starting to like this whole boyband idea less and less." 

"Well, you'd better start getting used to it, mate."

"Why do I have to wear the same clothes, anyway? Can't I at least wear different shoes if those ones are gonna cause me actual pain?"

Mark groaned, frustrated that Gary didn't seem to get it. "No, you have to! Jesus Gaz, it might have some sort of effect on how the audition goes, and there's no way we're putting that at risk. Nigel told you that you looked good in it, and you did, so you can just bloody well shut your face and put up with it, right?"

This had the desired effect, stopping Gary from making any further objections so that Mark could go back to the task at hand. He was about to turn around again and resume rifling through Gary's shameful selection of woolly jumpers, when Gary interrupted.

"But... It's not Nigel we're auditioning for this time, is it? So maybe this Tim guy won't care quite so much, or maybe he'll hate it?"

"No, he won't hate it! You looked gorgeous Gaz, I promise. I fancied you straight away. It's very important that you wear it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Gary smirking, one eyebrow raised so much it was practically touching the ceiling. "Ah, so it's not actually about what Tim thinks at all, then?"

"Of course it is, don't be daft."

"It's nothing to do with you and your libido?"

Mark didn't answer that, choosing instead to stick his head back in the wardrobe so Gary wouldn't see how much he was blushing. It was true, he'd found Gary irresistible that day, despite his nerves almost crippling him. In fact, it'd made him forget his audition-nerves altogether, replacing them entirely with nerves over the handsome stranger he was making a fool of himself in front of. Everyone had been trying hard to impress Gary and Nigel, but he'd found himself trying even harder where Gary was concerned, desperate to get into his good books from the get go. There had just been something about him, and despite thinking about it for many years, Mark had never got to the bottom of it.

Even nowadays he sometimes felt flustered around _his_ Gary. Not at home, in the comfort and security of their domesticity. He was fine then, normal even. But when they were in the studio, in an interview, on stage, or anywhere else where he had to perform and be creative or funny, interesting or insightful, it was always Gary he strived to impress. It was silly because deep down he knew Gary loved him no matter what, but there was still that urge which he hadn't been able to shake off in over twenty years. Why would it stop now?

He'd stumbled over his words a fair few times whilst in the company of _this_ Gary, which was even crazier. Technically, Mark had the upper hand, here, in that he knew all of Gary's secrets, including several that 1989 Gary would be horrified to know he'd let slip.

Then again, it would be easy as pie for Gary to make Mark spill his secrets. He'd done it before, after all. All he'd have to do would be to look at him with _that face_ or use _that voice_ , and Mark would tell him anything and everything he wanted to know. He was powerless when it came to Gary and, in reality, it was Gary who always had the upper hand. So far, in their twenty odd years of being together, Mark hadn't had any complaints about that. It had come in handy a few times, in actual fact...

Shaking himself to get rid of the thought, Mark ducked out of the wardrobe empty handed.

"None of it's in there."

Gary sighed in defeat. "Are you absolutely sure that's what I was wearing? You aren't getting me mixed up with one of the others or anything?"

"I'm more than sure, Gaz, I'll never forget that outfit for as long as I live." It took a great deal of resolve to resist adding something about how good his arse looked in the jeans, and how well the sleeves clung to his biceps. "It has to be here somewhere, unless you bought it specifically for the audition."

"Have I never mentioned it?" Gary asked. "If you found it so attractive you must've told me at some point, asked me where it came from?"

Mark tried to think. "Maybe. I just – no offence – can't see you going out to buy something like that, y'know? It was so different to what you wore back then, so I'd always just assumed your Mum bought it or you borrowed it from someone else. I've never seen it since, now I think of it."

"Well, I don't really borrow clothes from anybody, it's not something I'd be all that comfortable with."

Nevertheless they decided to have a quick check through Ian and Colin's clothes, in case any parts of the outfit showed up in there. Gary turned his nose up all the same, claiming that he'd never wear something his brother owned.

"Nope, definitely not here," Mark said, slamming the door of Ian's wardrobe with a bang. "There's only one thing for it: we'll have to go shopping."


	11. Retail Therapy

~

Shopping for clothes was ranked somewhere in the middle of Mark's All-Time Favourite Activities list, between looking at hats on eBay and making out with Gary in deserted studio corridors. He liked it best of all on a Thursday night, when the shops were open extra late and he could drag Gary around for even longer, proclaiming that he only needed to try on one more pair of boots with a ludicrous heel. In 1989, however, shops closed at five o'clock on the dot, and that was it. Anybody who was desperate for a loaf of bread or a pint of milk or a sparkly silver catsuit was plain out of luck. The days of twenty-four hour shopping were still a long way away, and Mark found himself pining for them.

"We'll go first thing in the morning," Gary assured him, "after we've tracked you down. And if it makes you feel better, I'll try on anything you want, even if it's not what we're looking for."

This did make Mark feel slightly better, especially the idea of taking Gary to some of his favourite shops from his own youth. His mind raced as he thought back to some of the clothes he'd loved back then (the nice ones, not the oversized jumpers and bright blue jeans), and he wondered if any of them would be on display. Mark was just taking a nice stroll down memory lane when Gary reminded him that he was supposed to call Graham to come and get him.

"Shit! I'd better do that right now. I'll need to go to bed early if we're going first thing..."

Gary showed Mark where the phone was, although Mark already knew. He'd used that phone many times, calling his parents two minutes before he was meant to be home and informing them that he was staying out with the lads and not to wait up. This was, of course, code for _I'm staying at Gary's but don't want you thinking we're going to be up all night shagging, even though we probably will be_.

"Hello?"

"Graham, it's Mark. You alright, mate? You sound a bit out of breath."

"Erm..." Graham paused for a considerable length of time, which was always worrying where Graham was concerned. "Well, there's been a bit of an incident. I'm fine, but the car isn't so much."

Mark's heart race increased at once. "What's wrong with the car? Is it the time machine?! Oh God, what've you done to it now, Gray!?"

"No, no, not the Datsun! Christ, the Datsun's running like an absolute dream considering it doesn't have any wheels at the moment. It's the other one that's the problem, the Fiesta. I've been tinkering with the engine, see, sort of as stress relief..."

He didn't need to say any more than that, Mark knew full well where the story would end.

"So you can't come and get me?" he asked.

"Not really. It'd mean trying to get the wheels back on the Datsun by myself, and that's tricky in such a small space. Can't you just stay there tonight?"

"Wouldn't it be a bit risky?"

"As long as you keep your hands to yourself and don't open your big mouth, you should be okay."

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he considered it. "Alright, fine. I'll stay at Gary's tonight, and you can come and pick me up tomorrow afternoon once we're back from our trip into Oldham."

Out the corner of his eye he could see Gary, leaning against the wall and pretending not to look too happy about what he was hearing.

"I'll have it fixed by then Mark, I promise. Be careful, though."

After saying goodbye to Graham, Mark hung up and turned back to Gary, who was very busy inspecting a loose bit of thread on his jumper.

"Did you hear that?" Mark asked him, knowing full well that he'd heard every single word. "There's a problem with the car, and Graham can't come and pick me up tonight. D'you mind if I stay here? We can get up extra early, then, and have more time to sort things out."

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll be fine."

"Your Mum and Dad won't mind?"

Gary laughed. "Mark, my parents want to adopt you already. Trust me, they won't mind _at all_."

When Gary's parents got home, they were indeed delighted to find they had Mark as a guest. Marge enlisted Gary's help in setting up the sofa bed, whilst Colin plied Mark with tea and grilled him on his career.

"Well, I'm a singer," Mark explained. "And a songwriter. And I dance sometimes, kind of."

"Ah, just like our Gary," Colin beamed, and the pride in his voice was palpable. "Maybe not the dancing part, I'm afraid he gets that from me. Shame, because then he'd have the full package, wouldn't he? Maybe the two of you should team up and do something together."

"Oh, that's the plan, sort of. That's why we've been hanging out these last few days – trying to get something sorted out, y'know? There's a few ideas in the pipeline."

"Like what?"

Mark hesitated. He wanted to tell Colin everything – about Graham and the Datsun and the coach of fangirls and the time travel and being madly in love with his son. Trustworthy, dependable Colin wouldn't freak out, and he wouldn't run to the papers or label Mark a witch. Mark was already taking a big risk by involving Gary in all of this, but at the same time he felt the more people that knew, the quicker they could get it all fixed and back to normal.

Just as he was about to explain everything, Marge and Gary came into the kitchen and announced that the sofa was all ready. Mark thanked them profusely, still feeling guilty about taking up their time and space.

"Not at all, love!" Marge cried when he voiced his concerns. "Any friend of Gary's is welcome in our home, isn't that right Colin?"

"Of course. And it's nice to have a man with some worldly experience about the place, not like his usual band of louts."

As Gary started protesting that his normal friends weren't louts, but in fact charming young men who were simply misunderstood, Mark grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out into the hall, thanking Marge and Colin once more for their hospitality.

"Don't argue with them, Gaz."

"They're my _parents_ , Mark. I'm supposed to argue with them!"

"I don't want to antagonise them, we might need their help at some point soon." Then, Mark thought of something else, something far more pressing. "Hey, er, d'you have any spare pyjamas or anything you could lend me for tonight? I don't want to sleep in my pants around your parents, at least not for a few years."

An excruciatingly awkward silence followed, and Mark winced as he watched Gary conjure up that very image.

"Erm..." Gary scratched his head in an unsuccessful attempt to cover up the smile splitting his face in two. "I'm sure I've got something in my room. C'mon, let's go and have a look."

They went back to Gary's room, Gary rooting through his drawers for something suitable and Mark wishing he'd hurry up so he could go back to the sofa and bury his face in a pillow until the morning. When Gary came up trumps with a pair of old, soft pyjamas, Mark nearly ripped them out of his hand in his desperation to stop anybody thinking about his underwear.

He locked the door of the bathroom and took some deep breaths, clutching the PJs in one hand and the toothbrush Gary had given him in the other. He had to keep it together, he couldn't let it all go to pot, not when they were so close to shutting the lid on this thing and getting everything back to fucking normal.

Calming down enough to get the toothpaste onto the brush without dripping it all over the bathroom, Mark brushed his teeth. When he was done, he went back into the living room and settled himself on the sofa bed.

"You got everything you need?" Gary asked, loitering in the doorway and not quite meeting Mark's eyes.

Mark nodded. "Glass of water, book if I can't sleep, easy access to a lamp. Can't think of anything else."

"Good. Well... I guess I'll say goodnight, then."

"Night Gaz. Sleep well."

"You too."

Gary didn't move from the doorway for several seconds, and when he did, it was in the wrong direction. To Mark's surprise, Gary crossed the living room floor in three paces, planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, and then left.

Mark was too shocked to call after him and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. More than that, he was alarmed at how right it had felt. It felt like he was back in his own time: him snuggled up under the duvet whilst Gary headed back to his studio to finish off some lyrics before he eventually climbed into the bed as well.

When Mark closed his eyes he imagined being in their bedroom, tucked snugly under their duvet, heads firmly on their pillows. The thought was soothing, and it wasn't long before Mark felt himself drifting off on the soft sofa bed in the Barlow's living room. It was much better than the bed at Graham's house, and the pyjamas that Gary had given him (blue stripes, two sizes too big) were comfortable and smelt familiar. Laying there on his own in the dark, Mark could almost imagine the real Gary next to him, snoring gently.

He always liked to use the same washing powder as his Mum, after all.

~

A general, jovial chatter was going on somewhere in the bungalow, and as Mark blinked his eyes open, he guessed it was the Barlow family having their breakfast.

He stretched his tired, abused limbs, and climbed out of the blankets he'd somehow managed to wrap around himself in the night. He folded them neatly, leaving them in a little pile on the floor, before padding into the kitchen to join the others.

The family were sitting around the kitchen table, laughing and joking as they had been the previous morning. Colin and Ian were both dressed for work, but Gary and Marge were still in their dressing gowns.

"Good morning, Mark!" Marge said, leaning over to give him an affectionate peck on the cheek as he sat down next to her. In his sleepy state, Mark wondered for a second if a miracle had occurred and he was somehow back in 2012. "Did you sleep well, love?"

"Very well, thanks, I was gone within minutes. It's a very comfortable sofa bed, that is."

"Isn't it just? I should know," Colin grinned, eerily similar to Gary.

Marge tutted and rolled her eyes, but she wasn't annoyed. "Ignore him. Would you like some breakfast, Mark?"

Before Mark could answer, a plate filled with toast was being pushed towards him. When he looked up, Gary was smiling at him.

"Take mine," he said. "I'll get some more."

Mark enjoyed his breakfast immensely, laughing and joking with the family for the best part of an hour, drinking steaming mugs of tea and wolfing down mountains of hot buttered toast. Slowly but surely they all got up to go about their days, and before long there were only him and Gary left at the table.

"That was fun," Mark said. "We don't get to see your family that much at the moment, what with you working away from home so much. Although you do take your Mum with you sometimes when you do _X Factor_ and that, which I think she enjoys for the most part."

Gary raised his eyebrows, and Mark mentally slapped himself.

"Please don't ask me what it is, Gaz."

"I won't. It's something I'll just have to find out for myself, right?"

~

They were lucky that it was a Friday, because Mark was positive that he had always been at work on a Friday. He'd only ever been in the bank part-time, but even that had been far too much.

"Are you sure you're remembering this right, old man?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "I know how Howard feels, now. I can't wait until _he's_ the butt of all your old man jokes instead," he said. "But yes, I'm sure it was this one."

This had to be the easiest thing they'd done so far, but Mark knew it wasn't going to last for long. Standing outside the bank and agreeing that it was the right place was simple enough, but once they went inside, the trouble would start.

How on earth were they going to convince 1989 Mark to go to the audition? More to the point, how was _Gary_ going to convince him? There was no way that Mark was going anywhere near him - he was sure that he'd recognise himself, and what would that do to his head?

"Look, I can't afford to be anymore messed up," he told Gary before they went in. "So you'll have to do the talking whilst I loiter over here by the door and try not to look too suspicious."

"What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know, just make something up! Honestly, we've done this three times, you should have the hang of it by now."

"Yeah, but this is _you_. You should know what would convince you, and you could at least give me some pointers."

Mark frowned at Gary's point, which was an annoyingly good one, and racked his brains. "I liked dancing when I was this age, singing didn't even cross my mind. So I'd stick with the dancing for now, say there might be some singing involved eventually but not to worry about it, 'cause that's where you come in."

"Right. And what if you don't go for it?"

"Then we're fucked."

"Right."

They went through the doors together, and Mark scanned the bank for himself. All of the staff were busy, talking to customers or behind the desks using calculators, and he couldn't spot-

"There!" he whispered in Gary's ear, pointing to a young man in a smart suit and tie, walking towards a door. He stopped outside it, tapped a few numbers onto a keypad, and pulled it open once it had buzzed to allow him in. "Dammit, we missed me. We'll have to wait for me to come back, and hope I'm not with a customer or anything."

Someone tapped Mark lightly on the shoulder, making him jump nearly a mile in the air. When he turned to see who it was, he saw a woman wearing impossibly high heels and smiling in a way that screamed Customer Service. He didn't recognise her, and only hoped that she didn't recognise him.

"Can I help you with anything, gentlemen?"

Mark cleared his throat in Gary's direction, hoping he'd get the hint. 

"Oh," Gary said, cottoning on quickly. "We wanted to speak to someone who works here, and it's quite urgent, see, so we were just waiting for him to come back out here."

She cocked her head to the side. "We don't usually allow our staff to chat with their friends when they're meant to be working, but if you say it's urgent then I suppose you could talk to him for a minute. What's his name?"

"Mark," Gary told her. "And thank you."

She nodded. "Give me a minute, I'll go and get him for you. But don't be keeping him for too long, he's got work to do."

After looking them both up and down one more time, she turned on her heel and went off through to the staff room, leaving them alone again.

"Hey, nice improvisation!" Mark said, when he was sure they were out of earshot. "You're getting good at this, in a way it's a shame it's the last one."

Gary grinned. "If the whole music thing doesn't take off, I'm gonna try my luck as a spy... Oh look, here you come!"

At once, Mark threw himself into pretending to be highly interested in a leaflet about mortgages he plucked from a nearby information rack. He heard Gary introducing himself, falling over his words even more than he had done the last three times (which might just have been a positive thing this time).

_ C'mon Gaz, _ Mark thought, _don't mess this one up!_

"I know you'll think this is insane, but... you dance, don't you?"

Mark didn't want to watch his whole future go down the drain, so he kept his eyes on the piece of paper in his hand, and tried to concentrate on relearning the difference between fixed and variable rate mortgages. He couldn't shut his ears off, though.

"I suppose so, yeah." Young Mark sounded baffled, but then Young Mark usually did. "Look, I've got to get back to work. D'you think you could tell me what this is all about so I don't get the sack for wasting time?"

_ Don't be such a twat _ , Mark wanted to shout at himself. _Shut your face and listen to the handsome young man, or I'll come over there and make you!_

"There's this audition, tomorrow morning, for a boyband. And you'd be perfect for it."

"A boyband?" Just as Mark had envisioned, his younger self scoffed at this suggestion even more than the others had done. "I don't know who you are or how you found me, but you've got me all wrong, mate. I wouldn't fit in a boyband."

"Yes you would!" Gary argued, and it sounded like he meant it. "You're a perfect fit, Mark! You can dance, sing, and you're really, really cute..."

Well, he couldn't help himself, then. Mark peeked over the top of his leaflet just in time to see both himself and Gary blush furiously. Any other time, when his life wasn't on the line, he would've probably shed a little tear at what he was witnessing, but he needed Gary to concentrate. Flirting wasn't the priority for once; there would be plenty of time for that later.

"And you've got nothing to lose, have you?" Gary continued, bringing them both out of the moment. "You might as well give it a go."

"But I've got no experience with that sort of thing."

_ For fuck's sake, stop making everything so bloody difficult! _ Mark had to stop himself from marching over there and slapping himself around the head.

"Me neither, but it's got to be worth a go, hasn't it?" Gary asked. "I mean, what if it were to work? This time next year we could be rich and famous – all of us."

"All of us?"

"Yeah, there's three other guys too. And none of them have any experience either; it's a case of getting out there and doing our best. And I think we could _be_ the best, but it wouldn't work without you, Mark."

"How d'you know that?" Young Mark questioned. Mark groaned out loud, as quietly as he could. Why was he being so pedantic?! "You've only just met me."

Gary almost hesitated a second too long. "I have it on good authority," he said, eventually. "Listen, just go to the audition and have a go, and if it doesn't work then it's two hours out of your life when you could be sleeping. If it does work, it could get you out of this dump forever."

This was an inspired statement on Gary's behalf, and Mark nearly forgot himself and did a joyful little dance. He didn't remember mentioning his hatred of the job to Gary, but if it worked in their favour, even a tiny bit, then he was all for it.

"Okay. Okay, alright, fine. If it'll let me get back to work then I'll do it." Young Mark looked at the piece of paper Gary had given him. "Saturday at ten-thirty. I'll be there."

"Brilliant, you won't regret it!"

Mark hoped and prayed that Gary was right.

~

"This is the third shop we've been into now, and you still haven't found what you're looking for, Mark. And I don't know how you're planning on paying for any of this, considering I don't have much money and you claim yours isn't going to work here."

It sounded like Gary was complaining, but Mark had perfected the art of ignoring his moaning in shops, and so continued rifling through a rail of shirts. He pulled out a couple that were similar to the one he had in mind, although not exactly right, and hung them over his arm for Gary to try on. Even if they weren't perfect, they might do the trick in a pinch.

"You're doing this to punish me, aren't you?" Gary groaned as Mark pushed him into yet another changing room and swished the curtain shut. "Honestly, I thought you'd be patting me on the back after how brilliant I was in the bank, convincing you on my own like that. I thought there'd be a reward!"

"I promise there will be in about twenty-three years, but for now just hurry up and put that shirt on so I can see if it's the right one. We've still got trousers to find, and that could take ages." Mark smiled to himself. "And you might as well start getting used to it, Gaz, because clothes shopping is going to feature heavily in your life with me."

Gary sighed, but Mark could head him doing what he was told and trying the shirt on. When he emerged for the verdict, Mark shook his head.

"Nope, not that one either. Get it off. I'll go and have another look out in the shop."

There were a lot of great things out there, buried deep under all of the nylon and velvet, and if they hadn't been so pressed for time Mark would've been quite keen to try some of them on for himself. But first he had to get Gary sorted out, and that was turning into more of a mission than he'd imagined. He wasn't sure why, but getting the exact same outfit together was one of the most important things they'd done so far.

Mark had always thought clothes were important, especially when trying to make a good first impression, and in this case the first impression was vital. Not just when it came to Tim, either. Mark hoped that his younger self was busy choosing the right outfit as well, and had half a mind to go over there and give him some tips.

"Anything?"

Gary was behind him, still clutching the previous shirt in his hand.

"Nope. You putting that one back?"

"I guess so." Gary held it up to the light and peered at it. "Did I look okay in it?"

"You did, you looked great. It wasn't quite the same, but it was nice anyway."

Gary smiled. "I might get it, then. Afterwards, obviously. We'd better find the real one, first, but if it's still here later then I'll come back for it. If _you_ like it then you probably will as well. Younger you, obviously."

"It's too confusing, this whole two-Marks thing. Can't we call one of us Dave or something, to make it easier? I'm sick of saying 'my younger self', it makes me feel so fucking old."

"Sorry, Grandad," Gary said. His lips twitched as he did, but he fought the laugh valiantly. "I won't mention him if I can help it. Don't want you getting a complex about it..."

~

They made their way through all of the shops in Oldham without finding anything close, before heading back to Frodsham and continuing their hunt. Finally, in the fourteenth shop, they hit gold.

Or rather they hit dark blue with thin black stripes, and that was was five hundred times better than gold, in Mark's eyes. He held it up to Gary, hardly able to speak, and even Gary, who up until now hadn't been that convinced about the whole special outfit mission, looked overjoyed.

And then Mark - knowing Gary as well as he did - had a good feeling, and turned around to find himself face to face with the right pair of jeans, only a few yards away. It made sense that they'd both come from the same shop; this was Gary after all, and no version of Gary would ever spend more then three minutes looking for a pair of trousers to match his shirt. 

Mark ushered Gary into the changing room and leaned against the wall to catch his breath, fizzing with relief and excitement that he'd managed to find the outfit, and that any second now he'd get to see it for himself. He hadn't imagined in a million years that he'd manage it, but then suddenly there was the proof, wrapped around Gary in an extremely tantalising manner.

"How do I look?" Gary asked, pushing back the curtain and standing in front of Mark with his hands on his hips. "These jeans are bloody tight," he said, spinning around to see how his arse looked in the mirror. Apart from the label sticking out from the waistband, Mark thought it looked pretty damn perfect. "I don't know how I'm meant to dance in 'em, but if you think this is the one, then it must be. And it's weird, but the whole thing feels right."

Swallowing hard, Mark nodded. He ran his hands through his hair. "It looks great, Gaz, just like I remember. God, that's... It's strange, seeing you looking like that, I'll be honest. You look exactly the bloody same, and I do mean _exactly_ the same as that day - which makes sense because you _are_ exactly the same. But for me it's... I can't get my head around it."

"It's okay, I understand. And I look okay, don't I?"

"Gary, you look amazing, trust me."

Pleased, Gary went back into the changing room. "If you're sure they're the right ones, then I'll get 'em. Bugger the cost, if you say it's so important then it must be."

Mark waited outside for Gary to get dressed again, doing everything in his power to concentrate on controlling his breathing and not ripping the curtain off the wall. By the time Gary emerged, Mark was almost calm enough to trust himself around him, but still walked a couple of paces behind as they went to the till, just to be sure.

"Shall we go, then?" Gary asked, tucking the receipt into his wallet. "Unless there's a special pair of socks or anything?"

"No, I think we'll have to leave the rest up to your personality. C'mon. And you'd better guard those bags with your life."

~

Graham was in a great mood when he swung by in the Fiesta to pick Mark up, and this came as a surprise. Even more of a surprise was him leaning out of the window to shake Gary's hand.

"You must be Gary," he said, gleefully pumping Gary's arm rather hard, making Mark wince as he recalled Graham's ridiculously strong grip. "I'm Graham, in case you don't remember from the other night - which I suppose you wouldn't. I take it you've had a successful couple of days?"

Graham let go, and Gary rubbed at his poor arm. "Yeah," he told him. "We tracked down Howard, Robbie and Mark, and they've all agreed to come to the audition, so that's looking positive. And then I was talked into buying an outfit that cost more than my best piano, but Mark said it was important."

"That sounds about right. Well, thanks for looking after him, I hope he wasn't too much trouble," Graham grinned, patting the passenger seat. "Come on Mark, we're better get a move on, eh?"

"Yeah, sure. Gimme a second, okay?"

After fixing Mark with a warning look, Graham wound the window back up and started fiddling with the radio.

Mark turned to Gary. "So, we'll pick you up in the morning then, Gaz." He couldn't stop himself from wringing his clammy hands together. "But I just wanted to remind you, in case things are a bit hectic and I don't get the chance to do it tomorrow... Whatever happens at the audition, will you remember what I said about keeping the two of us together? No matter what?"

"Of course I will. I can't wait to get to know you from the beginning, Mark. And I hope you don't have to wait too long before you get back to your Gary - to the right Gary."

"You _are_ the right Gary. It doesn't matter how old you are, or what you have or haven't done, or anything like that. You're _are_ my Gary, you always will be."

Gary rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Oh stop it, you sound like you're in one of those awful cheesy romance novels or something."

"Sorry," Mark laughed. "But it's true." Glancing down into the car to make sure Graham wasn't looking, Mark bent forward and gave Gary a quick peck on the cheek. "See you tomorrow. And... I love you, Gaz."

As he went around to the passenger door and started to climb in, Mark was certain he heard Gary return the sentiment.

~

"You know, I'm going to miss having you around all the time, Markie," Graham said, turning to look at Mark as he stopped at a red light. "And these last few days have been really great, what with all the tinkering and inventing I've been able to do. I haven't done any of that for far too long, because I've always been too busy working for that tosspot."

"You could always take on the inventing full time, you know. You don't need to be a security guard forever."

"I know, but there's little to no money in it unless you hit the big time. Meanwhile I've got a house and car to pay off, plus all the other stuff." Graham sighed. "Ah well, it's a hobby, isn't it? Something to take my mind off of my crappy day job. Maybe one day I'll be able to do it on a more permanent basis, and tell Nigel where to stick it."

The light changed back to green, and they continued down the road.  Feeling a hell of a lot more relaxed than he had been, Mark settled back into his chair and smiled to himself - oh, if only Graham knew what was in his future!

But then thinking about the future made Mark sit bolt upright. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the cassette, turning it over with a shaking hand.

"You okay?"

Mark's voice was caught in his throat, and his heart had stopped entirely. There wasn't a picture of the band, but slowly, achingly slowly, he could see the text forming across the top: Take That & Party.

He could've cried with joy.

"Mark? You okay?" Graham asked again, glancing over at him. "You look like you're in shock, kid."

"It's coming back," Mark said, his voice wobbling. "The band, it's coming back." He brandished the cassette in Graham's face, wanting confirmation that he wasn't imagining what he'd just seen. "Everything's going to be okay!"

"Thank God for that," Graham said, gently pushing Mark's hand out of the way so he could have an unobstructed view of the road. "I don't think I could go through all of this again. And I guess that means you'll be needing that time machine back up and running as soon as possible, huh?"

" _Yes_. I want to get back to the future, make sure we're all okay. I want... I want to see Gaz so much, mate. I can't believe how much I miss him, considering I've been hanging around with him for the past week. Stupid."

Graham shrugged. "I don't think it's stupid at all, Mark. To you it's not the same Gary, is it? Okay, so in your own timeline you met him around now and developed feelings for him, but he's not the same Gary you've grown up with - he's not the one you slowly fell in love with and then made a life with. It's natural that you don't feel quite the same way about him, even though he's technically the same person."

"But that's the problem: I _do_ like this Gary, almost as much as I like my one. That's wrong, isn't it?"

"Maybe a bit, but I can understand that too," Graham said softly. "He's still Gary after all, and you love him no matter what, right? It was sort of inevitable you'd feel like this, because underneath it all he's still the same person."

"Yeah, but the way I've been thinking about him... I mean, he's just a kid and I... Oh, never mind, that'll have to be another problem for another day, I can't think about it anymore." Mark put the cassette back and rubbed his forehead. "Let's talk about something else. Is there much more to be done to the car?"

"Not much, no."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"That depends - how much do you know about time circuits?"

Mark made a face. "Er, nothing."

"Right. In that case, for the safety of yourself and the time machine, I'll just keep you on tea making duties."

Now that, Mark could handle.


	12. The Final Hurdle

~

Mark had been awake and on his feet for precisely eighteen hours and fifty-seven minutes when he finally sunk into bed. At seventeen it wouldn't have been a big deal, in fact it would've been a fairly average day, but now he was so exhausted he'd almost fallen asleep under the car whilst he was meant to be tightening a bolt.

When he thought of the gruelling dance routines and endless travelling that his younger self would soon be subjected to, should everything go to plan, his muscles ached in sympathy.

If they ever got as far as touring, that was. So the cassette had started changing, but that didn't mean everything would work out as it should. There were so many things that could still go wrong, and Mark had no way of knowing what they were until he got back to the future.

Not for the first time that week, Mark prayed. He prayed that the audition would go well for them, and that this Tim Preston guy wouldn't fuck up their lives too much. He also prayed that nothing too drastic would happen, nothing out of the ordinary for them. Mark liked to believe that everything happened for a reason, but he could only hope that nothing he'd done over the past few days would mess things up further.

Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the fact that he'd changed things in his life. It might be a tiny difference, something only he would notice, but Mark knew that tiny things were just as important as big ones. That's what the lads had always said, and even if they were only taking the piss out of his height, they had a good point.

That night, he didn't sleep well at all, and he couldn't blame the lamp or the lumpy mattress this time.

~

Everything felt much better the following morning, until Graham couldn't get the Fiesta started and Mark thought he was going to have some kind of panic attack. This couldn't be happening, could it? Not now, not today, not when things were starting to look positive!

"Graham, I _have_ to get to the audition. I have to be there for Gary, and for the others! It's important!"

"I know that," Graham snapped, under the bonnet with a torch and getting more irate by the second. "It's not like I'm doing this on purpose, just to annoy you, you know! I'm sorry it's not working, but I had to hook the two cars up to give the Datsun a boost, otherwise there wouldn't have been a hope in hell of getting enough charge through the time circuits. Clearly something's overloaded this one somewhere along the way, it's just a matter of working out what that is."

Mark didn't have a clue what Graham was on about, and his patience was wearing thinner than ever before. A quick glance of his watch confirmed that it was nine o'clock - they had to be at Gary's in an hour, and the audition in ninety minutes.

Ninety minutes. It sounded like no time at all, and Mark had a feeling it would either drag like a bitch or it'd go so fast that ten-thirty would be upon them before they knew it. Despite not being one of the auditionees he was incredibly nervous, and desperate for things to go as smoothly as they could.

"Will you stop pacing about like a bloody lion in a cage, man? You're driving me up the wall, here."

"Sorry, sorry." Mark stopped and leaned against the wall, trying to at least pretend to be relaxed and nonchalant. "Is there anything I can do? Cup of tea?"

"No," Graham said. "There's no time for tea now, and I can't afford to be needing a wee this morning. If you want to be useful you can come here and hold this so I can use both hands."

"You need a headlamp," Mark told him as he took the torch and shone it where Graham was tinkering. "One of those daft ones that you strap around your forehead like a miner, I mean. That'd come in handy, doing stuff like this."

"What are you on about, Mark?" Graham said, muffled into the engine bay. "Ah, that might be the problem..." There was the sound of metal against metal as he tightened something. "Right, try and start her."

Mark put the torch down and got into the car. He turned the key. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. Graham leaned back down under the bonnet and fiddled with something else before telling him to do it again. Still nothing.

Hope was fading fast.

"We have to get this thing working, Graham. It's getting late."

They worked furiously for the next forty minutes, tools clanking against the ground as they were thrown out of the way, the air blue with profanities (mostly Mark's, but Graham contributed his fair share when he whacked his head on the bonnet after standing up too quickly).

It was music to Mark's ears, therefore, when he turned the key and heard the Fiesta's little engine finally roar into life. It was the best sound he'd ever heard, and that was saying something. He'd heard some amazing sounds in his life – crowds of thousands screaming their names, the first time Gary sang in front of him, _I love you so much, Markie_ \- but this was definitely the best.

He climbed over the gearstick and into the passenger seat, as Graham all but leapt behind the wheel and slammed the door behind him.

"Let's get this show on the road," Graham said, before pulling a face. "Ugh, sorry, that was too cheesy, wasn't it?"

Mark threw his head back and laughed because yes, it was too cheesy, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, not when they were so close to putting an end to this whole thing once and for all.

~

Gary was outside his front door when they pulled up, dressed in his new clothes and looking anxious. Stressed, even. Mark got out of the car and charged down the path towards him, already full of apologies.

"Gaz, I'm so sorry we're late, we couldn't get the car to st-"

He was cut off by Gary's arms being flung around his neck, restricting his breathing and almost pulling him down to the ground. All Mark could do in response was pat him awkwardly on the back, and mutter that it was okay, he was there now and everything was going to be fine.

"I thought you weren't coming," Gary muttered into his neck. "I really thought you weren't."

"Of course I was coming, I wouldn't let you do this on your own, not after everything we've been through." They disentangled themselves and Mark took Gary firmly by the shoulders, staring into his eyes. "Come on, it'll be okay. You're going to be bloody amazing and everything will work itself out, just like I said it would, I promise. Have you got the demo tape?"

Patting his pocket, Gary still looked worried, but he was decidedly less green. "I hope it's good enough for this."

"It will be," Mark smiled. "If it's the same one I heard twenty-three years ago, then it's perfect and everyone will love it." 

"I hope you're right, mate."

"I know I'm right - there's nothing for you to be nervous about, nothing at all. You're great, and the tape's great. Christ, I was blown away the first time I heard it, and I know the others will be too, okay?" Mark stared hard at Gary, until he nodded. "Good. Now, stop fretting and get in the car."

Gary did what he was told. He stood up straight, plastered a confident smile across his face, and took a deep breath.

"Let's do it."

If Graham had noticed the hug on the porch, he didn't bother to mention it. Instead, he greeted Gary warmly, turning around in his seat to shake his hand and inquire as to his plans for the audition ahead. The two of them chatted all the way to Tim's office, in fact, but Mark sat in the front with his hands in his lap, fingers tightly crossed, trying to tune the conversation out. His little speech about not being worried may have worked a treat for calming Gary's nerves, but it was making Mark feel ten times worse.

Everything had, eventually, worked out okay under Nigel's rule. They'd had a slow start, but it hadn't been long until the whole thing had turned into something beyond their wildest dreams. Some of it had been hard, and they'd all suffered in the aftermath, but they were all okay now, and all five of them were so glad they'd been given the opportunity. Who the hell did Mark think he was, trying to change any of that? He felt sick, his brain spinning wildly as it cycled through all the awful possibilities that lay ahead.

What if Tim Preston didn't like them, or they weren't what he was looking for? What if one of the lads didn't show? What if it was his younger self, and he didn't hear Gary sing, didn't fall in love with him on the spot?

Crossing his fingers until they started to hurt, Mark forced himself to stop thinking, and went back to listening to the conversation. Gary was wondering aloud which of the songs he'd written would end up being chosen for their first single, which made Mark remember the cassette.

Eagerly, he opened the glovebox and brought it out. The front was the same as it had been the day before: the blue title emblazoned across the top with no picture underneath. He turned it over, hoping to see the tracklist starting to appear, but the back was entirely blank.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, disappointed that small glimmer of hope wasn't getting any bigger. Mark cleared his throat. "You'll likely end up writing a new one for the first single," he said, craning around to face Gary. "Not that there's anything wrong with what's on the demo - at least one of them makes it onto here."

"Yeah? Which one?"

Mark glanced at Graham, who shook his head. "Nope, can't tell you."

Gary frowned, but didn't argue. Instead, he looked at the back of his cassette, the demo tape that had started it all. "I like all of 'em, but number four is my favourite at the moment. It's the one I played for Nigel when I went to meet him, and that was the first time I ever played it to someone who knew what he was talking about."

"Which one's that?" Mark held his hand out, and Gary placed the cassette onto it so he could see for himself. "Ah, I remember that one. _And here I aaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmm..._!"

"Wow, that was good! Maybe you should take that one over if it makes it onto the album."

Mark laughed. "Oh no, most songs only you can sing, Gaz, and that's at the very top of the list." In the wing mirror, he saw Gary slump back in his seat, looking guilty. "Hey, don't worry about it, I'll out-dance you in return, no worries."

After a second, Mark realised that the cogs were beginning to turn in Gary's head. "Hold on. If you're saying that's a song only I can sing, and you remember it well enough to sing the chorus like that... That must mean it's on an album or something, somewhere!"

Mark didn't have time to confirm or deny this, however, as Graham interrupted to announce where they were.

"Alright, this is the place," Graham said, pointing up to a large building, not quite a skyscraper but approaching it. "There's a car park underneath, so I'll go and stick this thing down there whilst you two go in and get started."

"Wait, what am I supposed to say if they ask who I am?" Mark asked. "What if someone notices how much I look like my younger self? I haven't changed that much!"

"Don't panic, don't panic!" Here..." Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Graham went into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of dark framed glasses. "These have got plastic lenses, so they should be enough of a disguise, but you'll be able to see what you're doing well enough. Put your hat on, keep your mouth shut, and it'll be fine. If anybody questions who you are, just say you're Gary's driver, or his cousin, or his next door fucking neighbour, or whatever you can think of that won't sound suspicious. Look, there's someone coming up behind me so you'll have to get out quick."

Leaving Graham to park, they walked back out into the street and began to make their way to Tim's office. "This is terrifying," Gary said, clutching Mark's arm. "I won't lie to you, I'm bloody scared right now."

"Don't be scared," Mark soothed, although he understood completely and was doing everything in his power not to tremble in his horrible white trainers. "It'll be okay."

And, as it turned out, it wasn't the audition that was going to be the worst part. No, that would be the waiting. At least the environment was a hell of a lot nicer.

In a stark contrast to the audition with Nigel, which had been in a dingy little club which Mark hadn't felt safe in (let alone ready to perform), Tim's waiting room was large and airy. There were comfortable chairs and leafy plants, and stacks of magazines littered about the place. Yet another checkmark went into Tim's box immediately.

To their shared relief, Jason was already there, dressed smartly in a white shirt and black trousers, flipping through one of the magazines on offer. He stood up when they approached, flashing them with a small smile and exuding calm vibes.

"Jason!" Mark said, shaking his hand. "So glad you decided to come, it's good to see you again."

Jason looked at Mark, polite but curious. "Are you here for this thing, too?"

"Me?" Mark did his best not to panic, at the same time remembering what Graham had said about keeping his mouth shut. "Oh God no, I'm just here to support Gary. And I gave him a lift, you know, 'cause he hasn't got a car, yet. Aren't the others here?"

"Not that I know of," Jason told him. "But then I don't know who the others are, do I? Apart from Howard? And I only vaguely know him."

"True. Let me go and see if I can see any of them out there, let you two get acquainted before you get called in. Gaz, why don't you tell Jason about your demo tape?"

Mark hurried back out to the lobby and looked around for the other three, dismayed when he didn't see anybody he recognised. Tim might've been the nicest bloke in the universe, but lateness would lead to a black mark against their names, as it always did. Unfortunately for Mark, at least two of his bandmates were well known for their appalling time-keeping - Howard had been late to the original audition, and Rob hadn't been that far ahead of him. But what about himself? Nowadays Mark prided himself on his punctuality, but back in the nineties he'd been more of a dawdler, more likely to show up just as things were getting going. Usually because he'd been stuck in front of a mirror fretting about his hair.

_ At this rate,  _ Mark thought, _they're all going to be bloody late. Or maybe they're not coming at all!_

But they did come, all of them. One by one they filed in and took their seats, first Mark, then Rob, then Howard. They sat around in the waiting room, introducing themselves and making small talk about how nervous they were.

Mark didn't join in for several reasons.

One, he wanted to keep a low profile, so the others wouldn't think back on this day in twenty years and suddenly realise who that weird older bloke in the ill-fitting baseball cap was.

Two, he didn't know what to say, because he wasn't going into the audition with them, and in their eyes he had no idea how they were feeling.

And three, his bloody Mother was there, sitting across the room from him, twenty-three years younger but still his lovely, beautiful Mum.

It had been strange seeing Gary's family, but seeing his own was just too odd, even after everything else. He could've kicked himself for forgetting. Of course his Mum was there! She'd dragged him to the first audition, why should this one be any different? 

Oh, how he wished he could hug her and tell her everything, let her know that it would all be so different in the future! As much as it hurt, Mark couldn't risk speaking to her, or even looking in her direction too much. Instead, he hid his face, terrified that she'd notice him and make the connection. There was no way she wouldn't suss him out straight away - she was his Mum, the one who'd brought him up, the one who knew him the best. All Mark could do was shrink away and not draw attention to himself.

Noticing how withdrawn Mark was being, Gary shuffled a little closer to him. He'd been in an in-depth discussion with the younger-Mark about football, but excused himself briefly to check on Mark.

"You're quiet," he whispered. "Feeling okay?"

Mark gave a surreptitious nod in his Mum's direction. "I can't let her work out who I am, in case it freaks her out," he said. "It'd be for the best if I leave soon, reduce the risk of anything untoward happening, like me giving my Mum a mental breakdown."

Gary looked more than a little heartbroken. "No, please don't go yet! I don't want you to, I don't want you to go at all. I'll miss you."

"I know, and I'll miss you too." Mark sighed, then smiled. "But think of it this way: right now you've got the chance to meet me from the beginning, and I can go back to the Gary I've grown up with. We'll still be together, one way or another." He patted Gary on the hand. "Tell you what, I'll wait for you to go in, and then I'll make myself scarce, alright? But in the meantime you should be talking to me - the other me. G'won, get on with it."

After one last lingering look at Mark, Gary nodded and turned around to continue the conversation right from where they'd left off. Just hearing them talking to each other so comfortably was almost enough to melt all of Mark's worries away. As long as he and Gary were together he would be happy, and the other stuff would be a bonus, an extra something to go alongside it. Mark was certain that he could do anything and be happy, as long as he got to be with Gary at the same time.

Mark allowed himself to let his guard down for a moment, maybe two, and that was when it happened. He looked up to see his mother standing inches from his face, staring straight at him.

"Hi," she said. She extended her hand and Mark took it, shivering at how familiar it was. "I'm Mary Owen, Mark's mother. And you are?"

Knowing he couldn't escape and couldn't ignore her (not his _Mum_ ), Mark got to his feet so he could lower his voice as much as possible. Gary didn't notice him moving, he was too engrossed in listening to everything young-Mark was saying.

"I'm Mark," he said, firmly. "What a coincidence... I'm a friend of Gary, I gave him a lift." It was as good a story as any, and he was sticking to it. "How's Mark holding up?" he asked, to take the focus off of himself. Kind of. "Is he excited about everything?"

Mary smiled as her son laughed at the story Gary was telling him. "I think he is, although he's understandably nervous about the whole thing. He came home from work yesterday and we talked it all through, and decided that he had to give it a shot, in case it turned out to be something special. If nothing else it's a good experience for him, and if it doesn't work out then that's one game of five-aside he's missed."

Ah, the old five-aside team. Leaving that had been one of the hardest things Mark had ever done, but once the band started up there hadn't been time to have a kickabout in the park on a Saturday anymore. Sometimes he would convince the lads to team up against the crew or the dancers, but being so out of practice they usually lost. 

"That's true," Mark said. "This could be the start of something amazing for them all, I can feel it in my bones."

He looked around the room at the five young lads: full of anticipation about the morning ahead, but glad to be making some new friends out of it. Rob was listening with rapt attention to one of Jason's stories about being on TV, batting his Mum off every time she started to smooth a crease out of his shirt. Howard interjected Jason's tale at various points to compliment him on his dancing, causing Jason to blush furiously and shake his head. Gary and Mark were in their own little world, having moved on from football and started talking about music instead.

Mark was so thrilled to see all of this going on that he forgot about his Mum, and jumped when she laid her hand on his arm and spoke to him again.

"You know, you're very familiar, Mark. Have we met before?"

Mark swallowed hard and pulled the hat further over his eyes. "I don't think so, Mrs. Owen, I'm not from around here," he said, hoping that would be enough. "I'm sort of... Well, I'm from out of town."

It wasn't enough. "You remind me of someone," she said, frowning. "I don't know who it is, but I'm positive that I know you from somewhere."

_ Shit! _ Mark thought. _Please, for the love of God, let the auditions start now!_

By some miracle, his prayers were answered. He managed to fob his mother off by suggesting that he had 'one of those faces', and excused himself to rush back over and give Gary some last minute words of encouragement.

Gary was beaming at him as he crossed the room. "I like you," he said. "You're really cool. I think this could work out, like you said it would."

"That's great, Gaz. Now you need to concentrate on the audition - you know how important it is that you do well in there, don't you?"

"Yep, and we're gonna get this, no problems," Gary said, his voice stronger than it had been since they'd met. "I swear to you, Mark, I'll make sure everything goes how you said it would, only it'll be better this time."

The other four began to file into the office as Tim Preston, a tall bloke in his late twenties, welcomed them all and thanked them for coming. Mark gave Gary one last hug, and wished him the best of luck.

"I'm gonna go, okay? And I'll see you in twenty-three years."

This time Gary didn't pout or ask him to stay, and when they broke apart his eyes were shining.

"Good luck getting home, Mark, have a safe journey." He squeezed Mark's hand one last time. "I'd better get in there before they start without me."

And with that he was gone, straight through the door and into the office, determined to secure their futures. Mark watched him go, knowing that there was nothing else he could do and feeling a pang of regret for all the advice and wisdom he'd forgotten to pass on. It was too late, now, and he could only hope that Gary would stay true to his word. The two of them seemed to have been getting on great, but what if it didn't last longer than the audition? That might've been the last time he got to see Gary, or got to hold him...

"Excuse me..."

It was his mother again, looking at him with her head cocked to her side like she always did when she was deciding whether to believe him or not. The woman had an inbuilt bullshit-detector, which Mark was slowly remembering, and instinctively he felt himself shrinking in her presence.

"Wh-where's Janet?" he asked, trying to divert her attention. "I didn't see her leave."

"She nipped out to check on her car, she couldn't get a space in the car park and had to leave it out there on the street," Mary told him. She was staring at him relentlessly, and Mark felt another shiver run down his spine. "You look so much like my son it's unreal." Mary stepped forward so she could examine him at close range, and Mark was frozen to the spot. "And my husband, now I come to think of it."

Mark backed up against the wall in his efforts to get away from her, even though he knew full well that his Mum had the uncanny ability to get the truth out of him without much effort on her part.

"Who are you?" Mary questioned as she jabbed her finger in his chest, looking confused and pissed off all at the same time. "Why are you here?"

Not matter how hard he tried, Mark couldn't keep it in. 

"I'm from the future!" he blurted out, shutting his eyes tight so that he wouldn't have to see her immediate reaction. "I _am_ your son, but I'm an older version of him, from 2012." He opened one eye to see Mary staring at him in disbelief. "It was our friend Graham, he put a time machine in this car that I borrowed from him, and I ended up back here in 1989. It was an accident, and I'm trying my best to fix it so things can go back to normal."

Mary looked dumbstruck, and it was her turn to back away.

"I'm so sorry I lied to you, Mum, I didn't want you to find out 'cause I thought you'd panic or think you were losing your mind or something. That's why I didn't want to speak to you earlier, and why I've been avoiding your gaze all morning. But it's all true, you can ask me anything. I'm Mark. I'm _your_ Mark."

He could see her processing all of this.

"But what are you doing _here_?"

"...You'd better sit down."

When he was sure his Mum was comfortable and unlikely to faint, Mark started telling her the whole story, from borrowing Graham's car to finding Gary, then from roaming the streets of Manchester to that very minute. Mary listened to it all without saying a single word, shaking her head as Mark spoke, as if it was too much to take in all at once.

"Look, let me show you my driving license, so I can prove who I am," Mark said. He brought out his wallet and found the pink card, holding it out for her to inspect. "There's my full name, my address, my date of birth, and my picture."

Mary took the card and stared down at it. She turned it over and stared at the other side too, perhaps hoping to see something that disproved Mark's story. It didn't seemed to help.

"I don't understand how this is possible," she said. "Time travel isn't real, it can't be."

"It is," Mark assured her. "I wish it wasn't, but it is. I don't know how it works or anything, but the time machine kicked in when I was on the motorway, on my way up to see you. If that bloody stupid thing hadn't worked then I'd be sitting in your kitchen having a nice cuppa and a bit of cake with you and Dad right now. And believe me, I'd rather be doing that because getting the band back together has been the hardest thing I've ever bloody done."

She looked up at him then, and smiled. 

"I trust you," she said. "You're my boy and I trust you, and if you say you've come here from the future, then you've come here from the future and that's that."

"Thanks, Mum. Please don't tell anybody, not even Dad."

"It's our secret."

He put his arms around Mary as she did the same to him, and Mark relaxed into the hug. It really didn't matter what year they were in or how old he was, sometimes a hug from his Mum was precisely what he needed.

Mary pulled back, regarding her son seriously. "So, what were you saying about you and this Gary lad, in the future?"

"Oh." Mark blushed, having forgotten he'd mentioned that. "Well," he said, "we've been living together for years, since we were in our twenties."

"And are you happy together, love?"

"We're so happy, Mum. Or we were so happy, until I went and fucked things up by starting all of this, and now I don't know where we're going to be when I eventually make it home. The Gary from this year knows we end up together and promised he'd do his best to keep it that way, but I'm terrified that my younger self won't go along with it. I don't know what I'd do without him in my life."

He bent forwards, clutching his head in his hands. So far he'd been able to hold it in and ignore the tightness in his chest whenever he thought about things going wrong. Now though, in front of his Mum? Everything started to feel far too heavy, and all he wanted was to curl up in a tiny ball and pretend it wasn't happening.

Mary rubbed his back, shushing him softly. "Don't you worry about that, darling. If you and Gary are meant to be, then it'll happen naturally, through the course of time. You have faith in your love, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't have all that much faith in the world anymore. I've been through a lot of shit, Mum." He winced. "Sorry for swearing. But I've put up with a lot, I've put other people through a lot, and some of the last twenty odd years have been bloody tough. Now I've seen us together and so excited about everything, and it's brought it all home. What the hell am I supposed to do if it doesn't go to plan?"

Mary didn't get a chance to reply, because the door to the office burst open and the five of them spilled back out into the waiting room. Standing up, Mark could hardly bring himself to look. But the faces he saw brought him hope - they looked happy, overjoyed, even.

He stepped out of the way just in time for Young-Mark to rush out and pull his - their - Mum into a huge hug. Gary was still in the office shaking hands with Tim, Jason and Howard were chatting excitedly, and Rob was looking around the room for his own Mum.

"She's just gone to check on her car, love," Mary said, still holding onto her son (the real one, not the imposter). "Ah look, here she is!"

Janet entered the waiting room, looking hot and flustered.

"They said I couldn't park in the car park because I'm not a member of staff, and I've just had a twenty minute argument with the bloke down there over it all!" She stopped and noticed the boys were out of the room, breaking into a smile. "Did it go well?"

Rob picked her up and swung her in a circle.

"It was _great_ , Mum!" he cried. "Tim wants to get started right away, sign us up with a contract and everything! But we have to come up with a name, first..."

"How about _Take That_?" Everyone turned to Gary, who had left the office and was standing in the middle of the room, looking surprised to see Mark still there. "I thought you'd gone."

Mark shrugged. "I wanted to see how you guys got on. Well done." He gave Gary another hug. "No, really, well done."

When they broke apart, Mark said his goodbyes to everyone.

"Best of luck, boys, I'm sure you'll be great. Gaz, will you be alright getting home on your own?"

Quick as a flash, Mary turned to Gary, and Mark wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and kiss her feet. "We can give you a lift home Gary, if you'd like."

Mark took the opportunity to slip out of the room unnoticed.


	13. End of the Beginning

~

He found Graham outside, leaning against a wall and reading a newspaper. Mark gave a small wave as he walked towards him, prompting Graham to fold the paper up neatly and tuck it into his back pocket.

"Well?"

"They got it, they got the contract."

"Thank God for that," Graham said, and he was grinning. "Time to get you home, I suppose."

"Yeah. Hey, where's the car?"

Graham rolled his eyes. "Don't. Fucking security guard told me I had to leave the carpark, and he was, in my professional opinion, a complete knob about it. C'mon, we've got a long walk to where I ended up leaving it. I tell you, this boyband thing better pay off, because you owe me a fuckton in parking meter charges."

~

The five strangest, most confusing days of Mark's life were fast coming to an end, and he was glad it was almost all over. Sure, he'd miss nineties-Gary and nineties-Graham, but he couldn't wait to get back to the technology he knew, the fashions he knew and, most importantly, the people he knew.

The waiting was proving difficult. Mark wasn't a terribly impatient person by nature, but he'd never been a situation like this before and he didn't know how to act. He took to pacing around the garage, anticipating the moment when Graham announced the time circuits were working properly and they were ready for him to head back home.

It had been an adventure, one that Mark wouldn't be able to forget for the rest of his life, and he wondered how much Gary and Graham would remember. He knew he'd eventually need to talk to someone else about it, to check that it actually happened and he wasn't cracking up. The other two could talk about it anytime they wanted, but what about him?

Thinking about the practicalities of it all made his head hurt, but there was one thing he had to get straight before he went any further.

"Gray? Can I ask you something technical?"

"Go ahead, although if it's more taxing than _can I get you a cup of coffee with milk and two sugars_ , then I can't guarantee a sensible answer."

"When this is over and everything goes back to normal - the new normal, I mean... What will I remember? Nigel or Tim? Or both of them?"

Graham stopped tightening the bolt he was working on, sitting back on his heels and tapping the spanner against his palm as he thought Mark's question over.

"It's likely you'll keep your original memories - the Nigel ones, that is. You might, over time, start slowly piecing together things about your new future, but they'll be fuzzy. So, Gary might tell you a story about something that happened with Tim, and you'll have a vague recollection of having been there. Which you were, of course, just not in your body. It might feel like deja vu, or an out of body experience, or one of those weird, intense dreams where you're not sure if you're asleep or not." Graham looked at him sympathetically. "It's confusing to explain, so it's going to be even more confusing to experience, I expect. You can always come and talk to me about it, in the future."

"You'll remember all of this, won't you? And Gary?"

"Yeah, we will. But we're going to have to keep it a secret from you until after you get back in 2012, because up until that point it won't have happened for you. D'you see?"

"Not... Not really."

Graham put his arm around Mark's shoulder and gave him an affectionate squeeze. "I wouldn't waste time worrying about it, mate, you could send yourself to the brink by dwelling on it too much."

With that he went back to what he was doing, leaving Mark to think things through. His head was hurting even more than it had been before he'd asked, and he decided to take Graham's advice and not think about it too much. He'd have to take it one day at a time - starting with today, right now.

"Is it ready yet?" he asked, for what must've been the thousandth time that afternoon. It was beginning to get on even his nerves, so he wasn't all that surprised when Graham turned his head and glared at him menacingly.

"No, Mark, it's not ready yet. It won't be ready for awhile, like I've told you every single time you've asked me. Why don't you go and do something useful?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know... Go and get changed. You should go back to the future in the clothes you left in - I don't know what fashions are like in 2012, but I'm sure they won't include boots like that."

Mark looked down at his feet, feeling disappointed. He sloped back into the house and up the stairs to the spare room, where he'd left his normal clothes in a neatly folded pile on the chair. Sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, Mark began the lengthy process of unlacing his boots, which he'd found tucked in the back of Graham's wardrobe. He wondered if Graham would keep them for him, just for the nostalgia. They were the only thing from the nineties he still liked, and had been excited about wearing them again when he got home. But Graham was right: nineties fashion was back, but not to that extent. Even he'd struggle to pull them off in 2012.

One thing he wouldn't miss, not one bit, was the oversized fuzzy jumper. He pulled it over his head and threw it on his floor, before thinking better of himself and picking it back up to put in the washing basket. On his way past, he stopped to look at himself in the mirror.

God, he looked old. He'd never felt old before, not really, but seeing himself aged seventeen, had hit him hard. As he peered at his face he saw wrinkles that he'd never noticed before, along with the little lines around his eyes that Gary always said were sweet. They looked fucking awful.

Mark poked and prodded at his skin, trying to smooth it out with his fingers. He wasn't ugly, he could see that, but he could never quite understand why people still fancied him. A lot of the girls who liked him were young enough to be his daughter, and ordinarily that didn't bother him in the slightest, but now he felt strange about it. If only they could see him up close, see the way he saw himself, then maybe they'd change their minds. Gary was constantly telling him he was beautiful, and somehow he always made Mark believe it too, no matter how much Mark was hating himself. What he really needed at that moment, as he had done so many times in the last few days, was for Gary to be there with him.

The tears pricked in his eyes, but he managed to hold them back. It was ridiculous, he'd be home again in a matter of hours, and then he could sink back into Gary's arms and put this whole ridiculous fuck-up behind him.

All he had to do was be extra careful on the motorway, and it would all be over. There was no way that he was going to put himself through all of this again, so he'd drive at a steady sixty, no matter how many coaches of screaming girls were chasing him. They could follow him, they could leer at him, they could do whatever they wanted - Mark was getting home in one piece.

Graham's voice floated in through the open window, and in five seconds flat Mark had dashed downstairs, sprinted across the garden and was in the garage.

When he got there, however, his face fell.

"I'm so sorry, mate," Graham said, and he looked genuinely devastated. "I can't get it to work. I've tried everything and I don't know what else I can do."

"But you said you'd fixed it!" Mark said, shrilly. "Last night, you swore to me that it was nearly done! You said it was going to work!"

"I know, I know, but the time circuits won't turn on. I've followed my original blueprints to the letter and they won't start. Did my future self give you any clues, did I give you any other information you haven't told me about?"

Mark wasn't listening. He'd sunk into a chair, his legs having given way as his entire world crashed down around him. "I need to get home, I can't stay here! I need my life back, I need to get back to Gary, I need to get out of here!"

Graham knelt down in front of him, and took him by the shoulders. "Mark, I understand that you're freaking out, and you have every right to do that, but first you have to calm down and pay attention to what I'm asking you. Did I?"

"Did you what?"

"Did I... I mean, did my future self tell you anything about the time machine? Anything that might help our situation?"

"No. You didn't say anything. Just that seventy seven is the magic number, and how wonderful you think the bloody thing is, and how I was horrible for saying it was a piece of crap."

Graham scratched the side of his head, and started pacing up and down again. "I don't understand it; I've linked all the circuits up to where they should be, I've tightened and re-tightened every last bolt I can find. The car starts, the car moves, the car even turns corners fairly well. It's as if there's no power going into the time machine, like it's out of fuel or someth- Shit, that's it!" He punched the air in triumph. "All we have to do it work out what fuel it takes!"

He hurried over to the workbench in the corner, where he'd spread out his original notes in case he needed to consult them. Feeling marginally better, Mark went and stood next to him, in case there was anything he could do. It wasn't likely, seeing as it was all gobbledegook to him, but Graham seemed to understand most of it, and that was the important thing.

"There's nothing here to say how it's powered, nothing at all. God, I can't even read my own handwriting there, can you? What d'you reckon it says?"

He pointed at a particularly illegible sentence, which Mark squinted at before shrugging.

"Fuck knows. Were you drunk when you wrote this or something?"

There was a pause and then, entirely without warning, Graham seized Mark by the face and planted a huge kiss on his forehead.

"You bloody genius! C'mon, in the car!"

But when Mark went towards the Fiesta, Graham grabbed hold of him and steered him towards the Datsun.

"Why?"

"It needs a test drive." Graham got in and slammed the door, fiddling with the knobs and buttons he'd fitted to the steering wheel. "Mark, hurry up!"

With a sense of trepidation, Mark got in and began to do up his seatbelt. He'd only just managed to click it in when Graham was reversing out of the garage and hurtling down the street.

"Will you please tell me where the hell you're taking me?!"

Graham was so elated to be driving the Datsun again, he was one stop away from bouncing up and down in his seat. Next to him, Mark wasn't nearly as pleased about things.

"This is a bloody amazing little car, it's no wonder I snatched it up! I wonder how much I paid for it - did I mention that, Mark? I bet it cost a bomb, it's brand spanking new with all the original features!"

"Graham, did you hear me?"

"Look at that dashboard – what a beauty! And these seats are so comfortable, I wouldn't mind having a couple in my living room. It'd be a conversation starter, if nothing else, although I'd have to be careful not to get carried away and start telling people about the time machi-"

" _Graham_!"

"What!?"

"Where are we _going_?!"

"Oh Markie, isn't it obvious?!" Graham asked, expecting the answer to be a yes, and laughing loudly when Mark didn't respond at all. "Where all problems are solved: the pub!"

Graham didn't say another word as he drove them to the centre of town, and they ended up back where it had all begun: The Clocktower. He pulled into a parking space around the corner, and all but dragged Mark out of the car and down the street. Of all the places in all the world that Mark didn't want to visit, The Clocktower Pub was top of the list, and he protested as Graham pushed him through the door first.

Once they were inside, he instructed Mark to go and sit at a table in the corner, then went to the bar and ordered four bottles of own-brand lager. The barman placed them onto a tray with a couple of pint glasses, and Mark watched as Graham picked it up in one hand, and brought it over.

"I don't understand. You want to get drunk so that you can work out the solution?" Mark asked. He twiddled the glass bottle around in his hands, and even holding it felt wrong. "I can't drink this, mate."

Graham shook his head, picking his satchel up from the floor. "We're not going to drink them." He opened it, and showed Mark what was inside: two large plastic bottles that had once contained mineral water, and a funnel. "We're going to pour the lager in here, and take it back to my place."

"...Why?"

"Because," Graham said, slowly and completely serious, "this particular brand of alcohol is the fuel for the time machine."

"It is?" Mark couldn't quite believe it was something so random, and yet so simple. "Why?"

"Oh Mark, all the best things-"

"-are fuelled by booze! Of course!" 

Mark laughed. Yes, it was crazy, but it was Graham, and because it was Graham he knew it had to work.

So they knew what they needed to do, which immediately lead to the next problem of how to get the lager into the bottles without spilling any, or being caught by the staff. The last thing they needed was to be kicked out of the pub and barred for life - that would lose them their only chance of getting Mark home. Teamwork was the way forward. Under the table, Graham held the funnel whilst Mark poured the entire contents of the first bottle in, trying not to let any slosh over the sides. He kept looking over his shoulder, half expecting a barmaid to be standing there asking them what the hell they thought they were doing.

But the first bottle went in without any problems, followed shortly by the second, and then the third. As he tipped the last dregs of the fourth and final one in, Mark was struggling to contain his glee. 

He was finally going _home_ , and with any luck it would be within the next few hours.

~

They could hardly wait to get the Datsun into the garage when they got back, but thought it was for the best they were out of sight for the final job. After all, explaining why they were pouring perfectly good lager into a brand new car would've probably earned a few raised eyebrows from Graham's neighbours. Mark would've thought it was crazy, if he'd seen something like that happened on his own street, whether he saw the time machine or not.

Propping the bonnet up for what was hopefully going to be the last time, Graham unscrewed the cap and stuck the funnel into the hole.  Mark hovered nearby, waiting with the first bottle.

"Right. You pour it in, and I'll get down here and check it's filling up properly." Graham slid underneath the car with his torch. "Don't go too fast, nice and slowly. Go."

With his heart thumping in his t-shirt, Mark began to tip the contents of the bottle into the funnel. The lager glugged down into the time machine's fuel tank, and Mark held his breath and crossed his toes in the hope that it would work.

"Hold on, let it settle for a second... Okay, do a bit more, slow as you can."

Mark emptied the bottle, and reached for the second. The smell of cheap lager filled the air as he tipped it carefully down the funnel, and it was making him feel dizzy. He was quite glad when there was none left, and he could replace the fuel cap and take a big step back whilst he waited for Graham to appear.

"Did it work?"

"I think so." Graham's voice was muffled, and Mark could hear him tapping the fuel tank. "Looks like it's full, now. Did you put the cap back on?"

"Yep, it's nice and tight."

"Good. In that case, it should work."

Graham emerged from under the car, and Mark helped him to his feet. They stared at each other for approximately three seconds, before throwing everything they were holding to the floor and jumping around the garage together, whooping with joy.

"It's going to work, one of my inventions is actually going to bloody work how it should! I can't believe it!"

"And I'm going _home_! It's all over!"

It had been an adventure - a horrible, confusing, terrifying one, but an adventure nonetheless. As sad as Mark was to leave Graham, he was too thrilled to be getting back to normal to let it get to him all that much. 

And anyway, they'd see each other soon, wouldn't they?

~

They decided to wait until well after midnight, to be sure that no prying eyes would see them activating the time machine. That was also the reason for them having driven some twenty miles out of the way, to a huge, empty field that Mark insisted was the same in the future. The last thing he needed was to crash into a new housing development, or a farmer's crops.

It took awhile to set up the stop and go points, and for Graham to get his video camera adjusted on the tripod exactly as he wanted it. He claimed he only wanted recorded footage for prosperity, but Mark had a feeling it was more for bragging rights, twenty-three years down the line. And he had to admit, he was interested to see what it would actually look like, when he shot off down the field and disappeared entirely.

"Everything good to go?" he asked. Graham was sitting in the driver's seat, checking the date and time were right. The Datsun now had a handy display mounted to the dashboard, making the horrific experience of time travel much easier to manage. "August, 2012, please."

"Don't worry, I've got it all here. It remembers the last three times you've been in, see, so all I have to do is select the previous date and it'll take you straight there." He pressed a button, and a red light began flashing behind the steering wheel. "That means you're ready to go, everything's working perfectly."

He slid out of the car, and straight away pulled Mark into a bone-crushingly tight hug. Mark didn't try to pull away, partly because it was nice to hug his mate, but also because once they stopped it meant he had to climb into the Datsun and hurtle towards a hedge at seventy-seven miles an hour.

"It's been an experience," Graham said, giving Mark one last squeeze for good measure. "I guess I'll see you sometime in the future, eh?"

"Yeah, you will." Mark reached into his pocket and brought out a piece of paper he'd scrawled his mobile number on earlier that day. "Just in case we don't meet like we should, I want you to take this and keep it safe. I'll make sure I've still got the same number, and you make sure you give me a call sometime in August 2012, because God knows I'll need to talk to you about all of this shit."

"You bet," Graham smiled. "Cheers for everything, mate, seriously. I never knew I could actually succeed at this sort of thing - you've given me a new lease of life I could never thank you enough for."

"Hey, this has been inside you all the time, all you needed was someone to accidentally crash into your life and prove it to you. You're a fucking genius, Gray, never forget that. And don't you dare forget your little mate Markie when you hit the big time, right?"

"As long as you do the same."

"You know I couldn't forget you Graham, you're one of those people you can't get rid of even if you wanted to." They both laughed as Mark got himself settled in the driver's seat and put his belt on, making extra sure it was buckled properly. "Now, are you sure this is going to work, and I'm not going to end up in the 1930s or anything?"

"Nope. Like I said, I've calibrated it to send you exactly twenty-three years into the future, give or take a few hours. All you have to do is hit seventy-seven and you'll end up in this exact field, probably not all that far from this very spot. Although you might be over there somewhere," Graham pointed out in front of them, "so get ready to hit the brakes. It leads out to a country lane, and I just hope you'll know where you are when you get there."

"I'll find it, don't fret. Even if it takes me all night, I'll get home."

"I'm sure you will." Graham leaned into the window and patted Mark's arm, before straightening up and patting the Datsun's roof (with slightly more fondness, Mark noticed). "Best of luck, kid, and remember: seventy-seven miles an hour is all you need."

"Got it. See you soon, Gray."

Mark rolled the window back up and took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves. He started the engine, which all sounded normal, and glanced in the wing mirror to check that Graham was ready behind his camera. It still tickled Mark just how big it was.

"C'mon then car, let's get home," Mark muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as he put the car into first gear and slowly released the handbrake.

They'd positioned the Datsun on a slope, and it started rolling forwards straight away. It was at this point Mark thought he'd better open his eyes, and as he did so he gingerly pressed his foot onto the accelerator. The speedometer began to climb steadily upwards as he crossed the field, and Mark was mesmerised as he watched the needle move. He managed to tear his eyes away to look in the mirror, and saw Graham had abandoned the video camera and was running behind him, waving like crazy and getting smaller and smaller as the car picked up speed.

Forty. Forty-five. Fifty. Fifty-Five. Sixty... 

The needle crept closer and closer to the elusive number, and Mark's heart was in his throat as it crossed sixty-five. It was coming, he had to get ready to brake as soon as he saw that blinding flash...

Sixty-eight, sixty-nine...

The car was vibrating like mad, making Mark feel sick to his stomach. What if it didn't work, what if it had all been for nothing? It had to work, it bloody well had to.

Seventy...

His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel with all his might, but he kept going, not daring to move his foot from the accelerator until the very last second. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to hit the brakes, but he had to keep going. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was worried about running out of field, but it stretched on into the distance for a fair while, yet.

Seventy-one, seventy-two...

He knew full well that, whatever happened, Graham would be furious if he got so much of a scratch on the car, so he tried to drive as smoothly as possible. Knowing his luck, and tree would've sprung up in twenty-three years and he'd go careering straight into it. Oh, he'd be in so much trouble if that happened!

Seventy three, seventy-four...

Well, there was no use in worrying about any of that now...

Seventy-five, seventy-six...

_ BANG! _

The grass around him suddenly got a lot taller. Mark slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel sharply out of instinct, making the car spin in a circle. It did a couple of full turns before stopping, and Mark was left clinging to the steering wheel and panting like he'd run a marathon. He was quite sure that he was dead, or that he'd wet himself, and he wasn't sure which one would be worse.

When he could prise his fingers from the wheel, Mark took his phone out of his pocket to check the date. That had no sign of life either, having died sometime during his first night in 1989. No phone meant no internet, and no internet meant no map. He was going to have to navigate all by himself.

Mark put the car back into first gear, and headed for the country lane Graham had mentioned.

He was back.

Now all he had to do was find his way home.


	14. Reunited (And It Feels So Good)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took 14 chapters, but we're finally at the smutty bit!

~

Without a Sat Nav, a roadmap, or the internet on his phone, the journey was going to be a lot harder than Mark had originally anticipated. Not that he'd ever thought it would be easy, but this was taking the piss.

"Fuck's sake!"

Another dead end. With every turn he seemed to be getting more and more lost, stuck in the backstreets of town and even further away from his goal. He pulled into a parking space outside a row of shops, and tried to collect his thoughts for a second, as if that would somehow help to lead the way home. Nothing was familiar, although he was extraordinarily pleased to see modern shop logos and nary a phonebox in sight. He was still feeling nervous, though, and (not for the first time), Mark was grateful the Datsun had working locks. There were some places he didn't want to be stuck so late at night. 

At least it was quiet, which was probably something to do with it being two o'clock in the morning ( _give or take a few hours, my arse!_ he thought). Mark had now been driving around for far longer than he wanted to deal with, and he still had no idea of where he was. It was Manchester, he knew that much, but Manchester was a big place, even for someone who had spent so many of his formative years in the area. Nobody, no matter how long they lived there, could know the whole goddamn place off by heart, with the possible exception of cab drivers. Then again, Mark had met a fair few of them who didn't know it all either, so what hope did he have?

No, that was a defeatist attitude, and if the last few days had taught him anything, it was that a defeatist attitude wouldn't help at all. He needed to concentrate, that was all, and think logically about the situation. It was either that or ask someone for help, but there was nobody around except for... Oh.

There was a man staggering along the pavement a few feet in front of him, clutching a can of beer in one hand and taking a swig every few steps. With nobody else in sight, he was Mark's only viable option for the time being.

"Excuse me," he called, rolling down the window enough to stick his head out, but keeping his hand on the winder in case he had to put it back up in a hurry. "I don't suppose you could tell me where I am?"

The man stopped, turned, and looked confused. "Eh? You're in Manchester, mate!" He had a broad accent and Mark had to _really_ concentrate, especially when he fanned his arms out to the side and spun around. "Look! All Manchester around here."

"Right, I can see that, but I need to get to London, see."

"London?" the man repeated, saying the word slowly, as if he was testing it out for the first time. "Why, what's wrong with Manchester?"

Mark was rapidly beginning to regret his choice of pedestrian, and driving around in pointless circles suddenly felt like the more sensible option. It might've been a shade more productive, at the very least.

"Nothing, nothing at all," he said, trying his best to sound appeasing. "Manchester's fantastic, I'm very fond of Manchester, trust me. But right now I need to get back to London, so can you please tell me which way I need to go?"

After thinking about it for quite a long time, the man jabbed an unsteady thumb in the direction Mark had just come from. "S'that way," he said confidently, before leaning down close to the window and peering straight in. "Hey, aren't you that bloke?"

Mark's heart faltered.

"Which bloke?"

"Singing and that. Dancing. With them other lads. The lasses go mental over you."

Mark wanted to press him for more details, but his voice didn't seem to be working like it usually did. Not that it was necessary.

"I dunno what you're called, but right now I don't know what I'm called, to be fair," the man laughed, taking another big gulp of beer. "All I know is you lot were fucking everywhere, on TV and in the papers and whatever, and then just like that you disappeared off the face of the earth." Mark's heart had managed to restart itself, and now it was starting to sink down towards his shoes. "And then you all came back out of nowhere, and you're fucking everywhere again."

"Oh. Oh! Well, I'm sorry if we annoy you..." Mark resisted the urge to grin, but he could feel it forming against his will. "Thanks again, you've been a great help."

Mark rolled up the window and executed the fastest three-point-turn he'd ever carried out in his entire life. He sped off down the street leaving that wonderful, beautiful drunk bloke to his can of beer, keeping everything crossed that his directions were correct.

And sure enough, they were. As Mark drove along, things he recognised started to appear, and so did signs to London. Mark had no shame in bouncing up and down in his seat when he spotted a big blue one pointing to the motorway. It was going to be a hell of a drive, likely taking him up until some silly time in the morning, but at least he had an idea of where he was, and where he was headed.

As he stopped at yet another set of deserted traffic lights, Mark reached over and brought the cassette out of the glovebox. He'd only remembered to take it back out of the Fiesta at the very last second, and staring at it now he was overjoyed that he had.

Everything looked normal: the title was there in all its wobbly blue glory, the picture of the five of them was there, and so was the tracklist. It was identical, even in the right order.

_Maybe,_ Mark thought, _some things really are just meant to be._

He slipped the tape out of the case and into the player, and held his breath as he waited for it to start. When he heard the opening bars of _I Found Heaven_ , Mark was so overwhelmed that he immediately burst into floods of tears. More than once during this whole ordeal he'd wanted to cry and resisted, but now he couldn't help the tears from spilling out, and he realised that he didn't give a shit.

Everything was perfect.

Mark listened to the album on repeat all the way home, and it had never sounded so good. Not one song sounded cheesy, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard and he decided there and then that he'd no longer tolerate the others making fun of it. How could they, when it brought him such bliss? He found himself singing along, belting out every song at top volume and for once not caring that he couldn't match Gary's voice.

Concentrating on the album made the long journey speed by, and before he knew it he was pulling into the driveway outside his house. Graham would have to wait until tomorrow for the car, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

But what if it wasn't his house anymore? What if he'd fucked up monumentally and someone else lived there, someone who didn't mess around with time travel? There was only one way to find out, and if it didn't work then he'd have to think of a back-up plan fairly quickly.

After he'd forced himself out of the Datsun, Mark stood out on the front porch for ages, clutching his house keys in his hands, staring intently at the lock but not moving to use it. The night/morning was chilly, and every fibre of his being was willing him to get on with it and try the damn key in the damn lock.

Gary would be pleased to see him, he tried to tell himself, but that was what was holding him back: the fear that Gary wouldn't really be in there, and if he was that he wouldn't have a clue why Mark was there.

The automatic security light went out, and Mark was plunged into total darkness. That was clearly a sign.

Holding his breath, Mark slid his key into the lock, and turned it. It worked.

He stepped over the threshold and groped around for the lightswitch, flicking it on when he found it and illuminating the hall. The house looked the same. His coat hanging up on the rack, with Gary's next to it. Several shoes lined up underneath, most of them his. A small stack of letters on the little shelf, all waiting until one of them got around to opening them.

It was just like he'd left it, as if he'd never been away. Mark ran his fingers over their possessions, marvelling in every tiny little thing that made the house theirs.

And then he was struck by an overwhelming urge, and he could ignore it no longer.

There were fourteen stairs between the ground floor and first floor of the house, and sneaking up them seemed to take an age. When he finally reached the landing, Mark crossed the hall and gently pushed their bedroom door open. The lights were off and he could hardly see, but there was only one thing he wanted in his line of sight, anyway.

He padded over to Gary's side of the bed, being careful not to trip over anything. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Gary up, not at five o'clock on a Sunday morning (not even Gary got up that early on a Sunday).

And there he was. Mark had to kneel down to take in the full view: Gary, sleeping on his side with one arm hanging out over the bed, his lips parted a tiny bit, snoring lightly. Mark stroked his hair.

"Oh babe, are you a sight for sore eyes..."

Gary mumbled something and rolled onto his back, kicking the covers off to reveal that he was clad only in his pants. Mark chuckled to himself and started undressing as well, suddenly aware of how bloody tired he was. It was too hot to be bothered with pyjamas.

He climbed into bed, laying on his side so that he could gaze at Gary for a few minutes before succumbing to sleep. God, he'd missed him. He looked even more beautiful than he had done when Mark had left, and all Mark wanted to do was lean over and kiss him.

"Thank fuck you're still here," he whispered instead. "I was terrified I'd lost you."

"M'always here, Markie." Gary rolled over yet again, this time drawing Mark into his arms and pulling him close. "Thought you were going visiting," he muttered, voice thick with sleep but fighting it valiantly.

Mark snuggled into him. "Yeah, I was, but I had to come back 'cause I missed you too much."

"S'good. We'll go up in a couple of weeks."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll have to call 'em in the morning, so Mum's not panicking that I didn't arrive when I was supposed to. She'll probably be ringing everyone from here to Oldham to ask if I've popped in on the way up..." He stopped, and remembered that Gary had been fast asleep and now he was just rambling at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, Gaz."

"Don't worry about me, love." Mark could feel Gary smiling, but he wasn't quite sure whether he was actually awake or not. Only for a moment, though, and then the answer became more than clear as something pressed into Mark's stomach. Typical. "You know I don't mind if it's you, I don't mind at all. Not one little bit..."

Mark pressed a soft kiss to Gary's forehead as a form of acknowledgement. "Mmm, I know you don't. But not tonight, eh? I'm too tired from all the driving I've done. Tomorrow, promise."

"I'll hold you to that. You feel so nice, Markie - I don't like sleeping on my own."

"Neither do I. And I've had a fucking awful day, so I hope you're prepared to listen to me complain later."

"Mmm... as long as you're... prepared... for..." Gary was drifting back to sleep, but if anything his grip on Mark was even tighter. "Prepared..."

"Night Gaz," Mark smiled, with one last kiss (still not to Gary's lips, because there would be plenty of time for that when they were both conscious). "Sleep well."

Gary didn't reply, but he didn't need to. 

Mark was finally, after hundreds of miles and twenty three years, back where he belonged.

~

It didn't take long for everything to feel as if it was back to normal.

When Mark forced himself to prise his eyes open (only a few hours after having closed them), it was to see Gary looming over him with a hungry, wicked grin on his lips.

"Morning."

Mark arched his back and stretched his aching muscles, hearing them give a satisfying crunch as he did. "Mmm, morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Not too bad, although I could've done with a bit longer."

"I hear you had a rough day yesterday."

Mark groaned. "Oh God, don't. But I can't tell you about it with at least one cup of incredibly strong coffee in my hand, though. Have we got any?"

"Of course we've got coffee, _you_ live here," Gary laughed. "But neither of us can have _any_ coffee, not until I've got rid of this." He winked, and the next thing Mark knew Gary was clambering on top of him, that same hardness pressing into him once more.

"You dirty git," Mark said, attempting to push him away but not doing a very good job of it. "You've got a one-track mind, Gary Barlow, and it's gonna be your undoing one of these days. C'mon, I need to get up, I need a fag and some caffeine!"

"And you'll get both in a bit, but I need something else first - which you did promise I could have, and you know you always keep your promises."

"Ah, but I was so tired last night that I didn't know what I was saying, so it doesn't count."

Gary shook both his finger and his head. "You're gonna have to do a lot better than that, Markie. You know it'll take more than a flimsy excuse to stop me getting what I want from you right here and right now."

Mark did know that, more than he knew anything else in the entire world. Once Gary was horny, there wasn't much either of them could do except let nature take its course - only death or a large plate of chips (no salt, naturally), could distract him.

"Oh," Mark said, giving up. He hadn't put up all that much of a fight, despite genuine exhaustion and an extreme craving for a cigarette smoked in his own back garden. "Go on then, if you insist!"

As it turned out, Gary did insist and, after approximately three seconds of feeble protesting, Mark surrendered himself entirely. He had the rest of the day to get his nicotine fix, this couldn't wait.

Gary wriggled Mark's pants off with little effort, throwing them carelessly to one side before running his hand from Mark's shoulder down to his thigh and back again. Feeling Gary's talented fingers travel up and down his body was the most wonderful thing he'd ever felt in his life - in general but especially today. Being this close to him, being allowed to touch him, not having to worry about the age difference or fucking things up - it was perfect.

"I'm sure you get more gorgeous every time I look at you, you bastard," Gary muttered, his breath hot against Mark's neck. "And younger, you get younger as well. What's your secret?"

"That's the whole point of a secret: you're not supposed to tell anyone what it is."

Gary sat up and begun to slide his own underwear off, pausing before he reached his ankles. "Not even the bloke you love most in the world?"

"I dunno, I'll decide that when I find him," Mark said, and it took a good few seconds for Gary to process. When he did, however, Mark knew he'd got himself in a whole world of trouble - when Gary decided he was going to start a tickle fight, there was no escape, no begging for mercy. They'd all learned that fairly early on in the band, dreading the moment when he'd burst into the dressing room and announce a game of pile-on. The other three were safe from it when they went home, but Mark had no such luck.

"I'll bloody give you ' _when I find him_ ', Owen!" 

"No, don't you dare!" 

They rolled around on the bed for awhile, Mark trying to bat Gary's hands away as Gary did everything he could to get to Mark's most sensitive bits, making Mark squeal every time he succeeded. It wasn't all one way though, and Mark managed to do his fair share of tickling and grabbing at flesh.

"I've missed you," he said, as they lay next to one another, both panting hard. "I mean, I miss you when we're not together."

"Me too, Markie." Gary threw a leg over Mark's body and cuddled him closer. "I'm glad you decided to come back home, I wasn't looking forward to spending a whole week without you."

"Yeah, I'd much rather go together, even though there's certain things we can't do in my parent's house..."

Gary chuckled. "We will, though, 'cause I can't usually keep my hands off of you for more than a day." Gary paused, and when Mark looked at him, he saw that look in his eyes. "I need to be inside you, Markie," he said. "Right now."

They didn't need to discuss it any further; Mark simply nodded and got himself comfortable, parting his legs in the way he knew Gary liked best. He needed this too, more than he'd realised, and he could hardly wait as he watched Gary kneel up and begin his search for lube in the top drawer of his bedside table. It took far too long for him to find it, but Mark knew that was him being impatient. He sucked in a breath as Gary went about preparing him, the cold of the lube not being the only thing to send a shiver down his spine.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Apart from the occasional twinge in his back when attempting to do something adventurous, sex didn't hurt anymore. They'd been together for so long that their bodies had moulded to one another, and everything seemed to work seamlessly. Still, Gary's greatest fear in life was causing Mark any sort of pain, so he was always gentle to start off with.

Mark let out a soft hiss of pleasure as he felt Gary slip inside him, taking his time to fill him to the hilt, before bracing himself on his elbows as he began to move.

"I didn't mean it, what I said just then, you know," Mark whispered as he gazed up at him. "I love you more than anybody."

"I know you do, Markie. I love you, too."

"I've always loved you," he continued, "since the very second I laid eyes on you in that waiting room..."

Gary didn't say anything in response, choosing instead to softly press their lips together and slide his tongue into Mark's mouth. It was sweet, it was gentle, it was beautiful. They had all the time in the world to take one another in, unlike in their youth when it had all been gymnastics and kinkiness, desperate to get off without too much thought going into it. Now they were both perfectly content to make love, neither of them feeling the need to impress the other anymore. Sometimes they'd break out something new to keep it exciting - a new position, a different location - but for the most part they kept it simple, and that was all they needed. They knew each other intimately; there was nothing Gary could do that would ever surprise Mark, and he had no complaints.

It wasn't going to take all that long before they were both hurtling over the edge, and Mark clung onto Gary like his life depended on it, wanting them to be as close as physically possible. A week was, as it turned out, a very long time for them to be apart, and Mark wondered if Gary could feel the same longing he did. If his hips were anything to go by then he definitely did, because the thrusting was getting harder and harder as the seconds wore on.

"Fuck," Gary grunted, now slamming himself into Mark as hard as he could. "I'm gonna come so hard inside you..."

It was Gary's voice that did it, as usual. As soon as the words left his mouth, Mark felt his own climax building, automatically groping between them so he could take hold of his cock. They didn't usually come at the same time, and had long since given up on trying to synchronise, but they both knew when it was going to happen and it always felt better, somehow. Being in sync was so wonderful, as if their bodies were made to fit together.

"I love you so much, Markie."

Gary came then with a soft cry, gritting his teeth and squeezing Mark's shoulder as he did. Mark wasn't far behind him, feeling himself go crashing over the edge as he whispered "I love you, too" into Gary's neck.

Collapsing on top of him, Gary nuzzled his nose against Mark's damp skin, both of them breathing heavily as they revelled in the afterglow. Gary planted a row of soft kisses along Mark's jawline, and Mark all but melted into his arms. If he hadn't been pleased to be back before, then he definitely was now.

And, in the end, it had been a much better wake up call than even the strongest cup of coffee.

~

Mark still drank several of them, however, when they fianlly dragged themselves out of bed and made it down to the kitchen.  His whole body ached like he'd been in a fist fight for the last few days, and his brain felt like it was leaking out of his ears, but he was blissfully happy. Whilst Gary fired up the kettle for his first brew of the day, Mark snuggled up against him.

"Love you."

With one arm snaked around his waist, Gary kissed him on the top of his head. "Love you too, soppy. Shall we have a spot of breakfast before we get on? Best meal of the day, that is, apart from lunch and dinner."

"God, yes. Can I have a Barlow special?"

"Poached egg on toast coming right up, and I'll even throw in a few spoonfuls of beans, just for you. How's that sound?"

"Like absolute heaven, Gaz."

Another thing he'd missed, apparently, was Gary's cooking. When the plate was placed in front of him, Mark wanted to cry with joy. He finished it in record time, whilst Gary took his time over his own healthier breakfast (half a grapefruit and a pot of yoghurt), and felt ready to divulge his secret.

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to put it into words, though. Mark stared at his empty plate as he tried to work out how to broach the subject, not wanting to freak Gary out more than he had to.

Mark jumped as he felt Gary's hand on top of his. "You alright, love? You're miles away. I didn't literally fuck your brains out, did I?"

"Don't be daft, I'm just thinking." Mark steeled himself, it was now or never. "Are you ready to hear something crazy?"

Gary took a sip of his tea (skimmed milk, no sugar), and nodded. "Absolutely, but it'll have to be a short something 'cause I've got to go and get myself ready for one o'clock. Hey, I guess you can come to the party after all, if you're not going away. That's good, Graham'll be pleased to see you."

"Graham's having a party?"

Gary gave Mark a funny look. "Yeah, to celebrate the launch of his latest invention. Y'know, the coffee machine that injects caffeine into whatever you put in it? Christ, he bored us both to death with the technical details last week - I'm amazed you don't remember, there was a slideshow and everything."

"...Gary..."

"When you said you couldn't go he was so upset, but he understood. Great bloke, our Graham."

"Yeah, he's great. Gary..."

"And I'm quite excited about this party, because he said everyone who attends gets a free coffee machine to take home! We're gonna have so much non-coffee coffee in our lives it's unre-"

"Gaz, will you shut up and listen to me for a minute!?"

Gary stopped, a confused look slowly spreading across his face. It wasn't often that Mark lost his temper, especially so early on in the day when no lyrics were involved.

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. But I really need to talk to you about something, and it's important that you pay attention."

"I will, Markie, of course I will. Did something happen yesterday?"

Mark nodded. "When I left for Oldham, you were already gone."

"Yeah, you were in the shower when I went, I did come in and say goodbye, but you were singing and didn't hear me."

"It's not that, don't worry about that," Mark said, rubbing his forehead and taking another gulp of coffee - he got the feeling he was going to need it. "The battery was dead in my car, 'cause I left the interior light on overnight like a prat. I couldn't get hold of you, so I went over to Graham's to see if I could borrow this car he'd bought, this rickety old thing he got off eBay."

"Not the Datsun?"

"Yeah, his new Datsun Cherry. And he said I could borrow it, to get up to Oldham and that, as long as I looked after it and brought it back in one piece."

"No way - he said nobody was allowed to even breathe near it!"

"Well, he let me do a lot more than that with it, trust me. See, this is the bit where it gets complicated..."

"Right..." Gary's eyes widened, and Mark saw a look of absolute horror take over his face. "Did something happen? Did you hit something? Are you hurt?" His face fell even more. "Have you damaged the car?!"

Mark grabbed Gary's hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm fine and the car's fine, it's nothing like that. No, something happened whilst I was driving it. Graham fitted this machine to it, you see, and he hadn't tried it out yet and told me to avoid using it if I could, but there was a situation and I ended up activating it. I didn't mean to - to be honest I didn't have much of a choice."

Gary stared at him for what felt like an age. He cleared his throat. "Fuck," he said. "It really happened, didn't it?"

"Eh?"

Gary looked like he was half-amazed, half-relieved. "Up until now I was still sort of hoping it was all a really intense dream, or some great big joke that you and Graham were both in on. But it wasn't, was it? It happened - the Datsun, the time travel, The Clocktower, the band, the audition. I remember it, all of it."

"Oh thank fuck for that!"

Mark got up so fast that he knocked his chair backwards, such was his desperation to get around the table and pull Gary into a hug.

"I'm so glad we can finally talk about it!" Gary laughed. "It's driven me up the bloody wall, keeping a lid on that for twenty-three years!"

"Why didn't you talk to Graham about it? He remembers too, right?"

"Of course he does, but it's not always that easy to get hold of him these days, what with his science career going stratospheric. And we didn't actually officially meet Graham until sometime in 2005, so I had to wait until then anyway." Gary pulled Mark down onto his lap. "So I couldn't always talk about it with him, and obviously I couldn't talk to the boys about it, so for the most part I had to wait until today. You're the one I always want to talk to, anyway, particularly about weird shit like this." He shook his head. "Jesus, I can't believe it's _today_ , after all this time."

Mark stroked his cheek. "That must've been tough - going all that time with that in the back of your mind. I'm sorry you couldn't get it out until now, and I'm sorry you had to go through it at all - it was my fault."

"No, don't you dare apologise," Gary told him, firmly. "You're the one who had to go through all of that, you're the one who didn't know what he was coming back to, you're the one who suffered the most. And you don't need to worry, because things couldn't have turned out better, Markie, they really couldn't. All because of you."

They didn't have much time, but Mark couldn't resist pressing for a few details, and what Gary had to tell him nearly blew his mind.

Everything, or almost everything, had gone the same way, only this time nobody fell out, nobody fell apart. The leather (and jelly) had still featured heavily in their early career, but that was a small price to pay for a peaceful split six years down the line. 

"It was your idea for us to get back together," Gary told him. "We were going a bit stir crazy without being in the band - Jay and Howard were busting out their dance moves at every opportunity, and the two of us spent every minute writing songs we never thought would get anywhere. And that was when you had this great idea: why not reform, for one tour only? The reaction we got when we stepped onto that stage for the first time in ten years - it was incredible, I can't put it into words."

"You don't need to, Gaz."

Gary smiled, and continued. "One tour turned into four tours, and we were having a fantastic time. There was one thing missing, obviously, but Rob promised he'd come back when he was done being so busy with his solo stuff. That was probably the best moment, for us, when he turned up one afternoon and said he was ready to go."

"And everything's the same? All the songs? What about _The Flood_?"

"Oh yeah, that's a great tune! _Everything's_ great, Markie, it always has been. And, best of all, nobody got fat!"

Mark had never been so happy in all his life.

They ended up making love again, on the kitchen table this time, and they were very, very late to the party.


	15. And You Feel Like It's All Over...

~

The drive to Graham's new house - mansion, Gary told him - took an extremely long time. Them being hideously behind schedule didn't help, but it was mostly because Mark was driving (in Gary's words) 'like an old bag'. There was no way Mark was going to damage the car, or risk going anywhere near seventy-seven, not this time. So he stuck to fifty, even on the short stretch of motorway, with Gary complaining the entire time.

"Mark, seriously. Can't I drive?"

"No way, I'm not letting anything happen. We're going to take our time and get there in one fucking piece, all three of us."

In the mirror, Mark saw Gary raise an eyebrow. "Three? Mark, have you fallen in love with this car?"

Mark tore his eyes from the completely clear road ahead for a split second, so he could glare at Gary, who was giggling away to himself.

"No," he said. "I hate this car, it's a piece of shit. But I'm not going to get it in the neck from Graham by breaking it - most of the bloody thing is held together with sellotape, trust me. And I'm not going to time travel again, it was the most unpleasant thing I've ever done in my whole life."

"Looked good in the films though, didn't it? That bit when the fire shoots off down the road... Magic." Gary stretched out in his seat, which made Mark nervous. "Marty McFly had a better car than this, didn't he?"

"The DeLorean? That was a great car - ugly as anything, but so cool." Mark thought for a moment. "Maybe we should get one of those, replace your car."

"My car? Why not your car?" Gary shook his head. "No way, babe, my car's going nowhere - and I treat it right, making sure I turn the lights off, in case the battery dies and I have to borrow a junkheap like this. And anyway, can you imagine Jason's face if we turned up with a DeLorean? It's not exactly environmentally friendly, is it?"

"No worse than this thing." 

"True, and it's better built, I'm sure. This is all so cheap, the plastic's rubbish!" Gary said, as he tugged at the lever that made the seat move back. "Look, it nearly snapped off in my hand, there!"

"Don't!" Mark cried, taking one hand off the wheel in order to smack Gary's away before he broke anything. "Don't touch, just sit still."

Clearly finding the whole thing hilarious but doing his best not to laugh too much, Gary did what he was told and folded his arms across his body. Mark allowed himself to relax a little, and glanced at the sat-nav. They were about five miles away - five miles, and then he'd never, ever have to sit in the godforsaken Datsun Cherry with time travel capabilities again.

~

Graham's new house was certainly a surprise. It was enormous, for a start, about ten times bigger than the little two bedroom semi Mark had been staying in for the past week. The monogrammed ('G.B' - "I could do with some of them, Markie!") gates opened up to a cobblestone driveway with an extravagant fountain in the middle, and they began the long journey up to the house. Made of beautiful red brick and surrounded by what looked like acres of land, the place was an absolute palace. Mark was chuffed for his mate - if anybody deserved success like this, it was Graham.

They parked the Datsun on the driveway on the end of a row of cars, and it looked laughably out of place next to a brand new Porsche. Mark locked the Datsun and followed Gary up towards the front door.

"Looks like Jay's here," Mark said, pointing out Jason's prized Mercedes, parked near the porch. "It's glistening, he must've just washed it."

Gary rolled his eyes, but it was affectionate. "He washes it every da- _Graham_!"

The door opened to reveal their friend, beaming at them as he stood there in a very expensive looking tailored suit. Next to him was a stunning blonde woman in a red cocktail dress, her hand tucked into the crook of Graham's arm.

"Gary, so good to see you! And Mark, you made it!" He untangled himself from the woman, and held his arms out for a hug - Gary went first. "Welcome, welcome. Come on in and get yourselves a drink."

"Thanks, mate," Gary said. He stepped aside to let Mark greet Graham, and pecked the woman warmly on the cheek. "Samantha, you're looking more radiant than ever. How are you, love?"

Leaving Samantha to lead Gary into the house, Mark and Graham stood on the front step and stared at each other for approximately ten seconds. Then, with no prior warning whatsoever, Graham wrapped his arms around Mark and crushed him in a tight hug.

"I noticed the date when I got up this morning," he said, his voice muffled into the top of Mark's head, "and hoped you'd turn up together. It's great to see you, Markie, welcome back."

When he was finally released, Mark stood for a second, panting and checking that his ribs were still all present and correct. "Thanks, mate, it's good to be home at last." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I've left the Datsun over there for you, all still working and everything. Would've brought it over last night, but I had to get home, y'know?"

"Of course you did, I understand." Graham's eyes were wide, and he had a manic expression that usually meant someone was going to suffer (Mark was, more often than not, the victim). "I kinda wish this launch party thing wasn't happening today, as excited as I am about it. All I want to do is talk about the stuff that happened."

"You're not the only one, mate. I asked Gary to tell me about it this morning, and he gave me a quick run through of everything that's been going on. Sounds like it's been good."

Graham slung an arm around Mark's shoulder as he led him into the house and started walking him down an incredibly long hallway. "It's been great, for all of us. We'll have to sit down and talk about it all later. Remind me to tell you all about Samantha," he said with a wink. "And it's all thanks to you, Markie, I know Gary feels the same way."

They arrived at an opulent ballroom, which was full to bursting with people. Some Mark knew, some he didn't. Everyone was doing the same thing: standing in small clusters, posh champagne flutes in their hands, talking and laughing and having a great time.

"You go in and get yourself some nibbles, mate," Graham told him. "I've got some stuff to do before the big reveal, so I'll catch you in a bit and we can go and find somewhere quiet to chat."

He gave Mark a gentle shove to encourage him through the doors, and Mark stood awkwardly, gazing at the scene in front of him, trying to find someone he knew. Gary was nowhere to be seen, although Mark assumed he was in there, somewhere.

"Mark!" 

Mark turned around just as a familiar pair of arms enclosed him, making him sigh with relief. When they pulled apart, Mark took a moment to inspect him, and was pleased to see that Jason looked the same. Well, mostly.

"Good to see you, mate." Mark pointed to the room ahead of them, still amazed by the beautiful curtains hanging from the ceilings and the enormous ice sculptures in every corner. "This is all a bit posh, innit?"

"It is, yeah. He's done well for himself, has our Graham, I'm very proud of him." Jason cocked his head to the side, looking concerned. "You look tired, Markie. Bad night?"

"Something like that, yeah. But I'm alright, really. Shall we go in?"

They walked into the throng of people, Mark clinging on to Jason's elbow lest he should lose him in the heaving crowd. He'd done quite enough of losing people over the last few days, and wasn't prepared to let anybody he cared about out of his sight. He was just looking around to the room to see if he could spot Gary anywhere, when Jason spoke to him again, asking him a tough question.

"What d'you think of my new beard, then? Does it suit me?"

"Er." Mark stopped to take a proper look at it. He'd seen better, but he'd seen worse, too. "It's... It's very nice."

As Mark finished lying, Gary's voice rang out from somewhere nearby, and he appeared between them. "Jay!" He gave Jason a hug as well, and when he pulled back he was making a face. "Christ, that beard's fucking awful, mate. You'll have to get rid, we can't have that on an album cover!"

"I said that, but he wouldn't listen to me." Howard had arrived, bringing a glass for him and one for Jason. He'd knocked his back before Jason (who was staring at Howard in disbelief) had even got as far as lifting the glass to his lips. "Alright, Markie? You look knackered, lad. What's Gaz been doing with you, eh? Or don't I want to know?"

Before Mark could answer, Jason interrupted. "You said the beard looked good! You said it made me look distinguished!"

Howard shrugged. "I lied. You went on and on about it for two days, so I lied."

Any lingering doubt that things had changed between his friends started melting away as Gary and Howard poked holes in Jason's beard. Not literally, of course, although that may have been an improvement. Mark didn't like to say anything awful about anybody, but it was too big, too bushy, and didn't suit him at all.

"So you think I should take it all off, then?" Jason raised a hand to his hairy chin and stroked it. "I thought it looked alright." He sighed. "I guess I'll be off down to Boots tomorrow to get a new razor. Shame, I quite liked not having to shave every morning."

"You don't have to shave it all off," Gary told him. "You want to get yourself some stubble mate, every bloke looks better with a bit of stubble 'round his chops." He put an arm around Mark's shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Except this one, of course - he looks like he's drawn it on with a biro."

Everyone laughed, but Mark didn't argue. Partially because Gary had a point, but partially because he was too busy remembering the past.

"You used to be smooth-faced all the time," he said. "Well, we all were, 'cause none of us could grow anything much."

"I could," Howard pointed out. "It wasn't much but it was more than anybody else, so I didn't let it grow in case I made the rest of you feel inadequate." He looked at his reflection in one of the many mirrors that lined the ballroom's walls. "And I look good with a beard, if I do say so myself."

"Yeah alright, I get the point," Jason said, rolling his eyes. "The beard goes, first thing tomorrow morning. Next time you see me, I'll be as smooth as a baby's behind, you have my word."

Mark shook his head. "No, don't get rid of it all, Jay. Gary's right: stubble suits you. You'd look weird with nothing at all, now you've got longer hair and everything."

"Remember when we first started out and Tim convinced him to have that little clip-on fringe thing?" Gary asked, laughing. "And he got him to keep dying it jet black as well... Not a good look for you, mate."

Howard raised his eyebrows. "Ooh, look who's talking! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember you spending your first three wage packets on those huge bottles of bleach..."

Making fun at one another confirmed it - these were definitely his wonderful, wonderful friends and bandmates. There was something missing, though. When he got a second between reminiscing about years spent in leather, and laughing at/feeling guilty about Howard's broken finger, Mark took Gary to one side.

"Rob isn't here, is he? Is he in LA?"

Gary nodded. "Yeah, he lives out there most of the time. He wanted to come to the party, but he's so busy with his new album and all, and he couldn't get away in time. It's a shame, 'cause he and Graham get on like a house on fire, after they met a few years ago and bonded over their love of all things bizarre."

Although he understood why Rob was absent, Mark was more than a little bit disappointed. He wanted to check everything was okay with him too, and although asking Gary was a good start, seeing Rob with his own two eyes was what he needed.

Noticing his sombre expression, Gary wrapped his arms around Mark and pulled him into a tight hug. "Hey, don't worry. We'll call him on Skype when we get home, and you'll see he's fine."

That put Mark's mind at rest and, now that he knew they were all the same and they were all safe, he was finally able to enjoy the party.

~

It turned out to be a great success, with everyone except for Mark and Samantha getting horrendously drunk. Under normal circumstances that would've been fine, but most of what they were drinking ended up going through Graham's magic coffee machine, so they all ended up rather hyper as well.

One by one, they started to crash. Mark found Howard slumped on a sofa in one of the lounges, his head wedged uncomfortably against the arm and Jason sprawled over him. He slipped a pillow under Howard's head and threw a blanket over both of them, and they seemed content enough to stay there.

Then he went to find Gary, who had been missing for the past hour and a half and was starting to make Mark feel anxious. The last time he'd seen him, he'd been playing the piano and trying to convince Mark to sing _Shine_ with him (Mark had refused, mainly because Gary was playing it several keys higher than he should've been).

In one of the many hallways, he bumped into Samantha. She was doing the same as him: putting guests to bed, and making sure nobody had actually passed out and was struggling to breathe.

"Have you seen Gary?" he asked. "I thought he'd be tucked in with the other two, but no such luck."

She pointed down the corridor with one of the empty wine glasses she had collected on her travels. "Try down there," she said. "I thought I heard him say something about being grimy and needing to have a shower."

"Shit, he'll drown in there! Thanks Sam, I'll help you tidy everything up once I've tracked him down."

"No worries. If you see Graham at any point, you tell him that I'm going to throttle him for making this mess in my brand new house," she laughed.

Promising that he would, Mark scurried off in the direction Samantha had shown him. The problem was, there were far too many places for Gary to be hiding - as magnificent as the place was, it was extremely easy to get lost. Twice Mark went through a door, only to find himself in another bloody hallway with a multitude of options ahead of him. He tried them all, hoping that by sheer luck he'd hit the jackpot and find Gary snoring away in a corner somewhere.

"You need a fucking sat-nav in this house," he grumbled, opening another door and finding himself looking down a steep staircase. "Wait. What was that?"

He stopped, and he listened. He could hear something, something very familiar.

"So that's where you're hiding. You're in so much trouble, Gaz..."

He followed the sound along the winding corridors, one moment loud and clear, the next fading away as he went in the wrong direction. Graham would have to start giving out detailed maps to guests if he wanted people to make it out alive at the end of his parties.

And then, just when he was about to admit defeat and ring Gary's phone, he found him. Actually, he found them.

Gary was on one sofa, sitting up and clutching a glass of wine in one hand. Graham was across the room, spread out on another sofa that he was much too tall for (his legs were sticking out over the end, feet almost flat on the floor).

" _There_ you are!" Mark said. He closed the door behind him, making the dim light in the room even worse. The floor was littered with random tools and paperwork, and Mark tried not to trip over anything as he stumbled over to Gary. That would be typical, the only sober one there ending up going arse over tit. "Gary, where the fuck have you been? And Graham, Sam's been looking for you everywhere, I think you're in deep shi- Wait, what exactly are you two doing in here?"

"Ooh look Gray! It's my Markie!" Gary, who was tipsy rather than completely off his face drunk, grabbed Mark by the hand and pulled him onto his lap, covering his face in sloppy kisses. "Isn't he lovely? Eh, we were just talking about you."

"Great." Mark strained to get out of Gary's grip but failed, and settled instead for putting a hand to his lips to stop the onslaught of wet kisses. "Guys, we've got to go and help Sam tidy up - everyone else has passed out and she's all on her own out there."

Graham, who was staring up at the ceiling, gave a deep sigh. "We'll go and help her in a minute. I tell you, when I've got all this booze and caffeine out of my system I'm gonna invent something so she never has to lift a finger ever again. She deserves it, honestly. Wonderful woman, my Samantha, just wonderful. And so clever and funny, absolutely beautiful inside and out. I dunno why she likes me at all."

"No," Mark said, "right now I can agree with tha- Gary, will you get off?!"

"That's what I'm _trying_ to do, but you won't let me!"

Mark gave him one last shove, and managed to escape.

"C'mon, both of you, there's work to do."

Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. Annoyed, Mark began to get to his feet. If they weren't going be helpful then that was on their consciences, but he liked Sam and wasn't going to leave her to do all of the work.

"What was it like, Mark?"

Mark stopped in his tracks at Graham's question.

"What was what like?" he asked, although he knew full well what Graham was referring to. Did they really have to talk about it now? They were supposed to be making themselves useful, not sitting around chatting. But at the same time he longed to get it all out in the open, and he didn't know when he'd next get the opportunity.

Graham sat up and stared intently at Mark. "Time travel! The experience! The science! What was it like?!"

Well, he could make it up to Samantha later.

"It was weird," he said, sitting back down next to Gary but keeping him at bay. "The actual going through time happened in a flash, literally, much quicker than you'd think. It was just _'blip!'_ and there I was, somewhere else - some _when_ else, I suppose."

Graham nodded, shuffling forward even more so that he was almost perched on the edge of the sofa. "And what about when you got to 1989, what did you think? How did you feel? What was the first thing you did?"

Mark thought back. Even though it had technically only been a week ago, so much had happened in between that the details were blurry.

"I went to a newsagent to confirm the date, because at that point I still didn't believe you'd made a real time machine, and I had to see for myself. Once I picked up that newspaper, though..." He shook his head. "There was no denying it after that. Naturally I started to panic, and immediately wanted to talk to Gary, but when I called his house, he wasn't in. I spoke to Marge and she told me where he was."

"You spoke to my Mum on the phone?" Gary asked, getting excited now as well. "What did she say?"

"Not much, she told me that you were working down at The Clocktower pub."

Gary made a face. "Oh God, I hated playing in that fucking place, it was such a dump. The pay was decent, though, and one night I met someone very special."

"Well, you weren't meant to," Mark reminded him. "You were supposed to meet Nigel afterwards, but got distracted by a crazy madman from the future and it didn't happen."

"Nigel?" Gary furrowed his brow. "I don't remember anyone ca- oh, wait, yes I do. He was the first manager I met, he liked my tape and said he'd consider signing me to his label if I was good enough live."

"That's the one. But the night he was there was the night I arrived in 1989, and it took so long to explain everything, and for you to believe me, that he walked out. We went straight to his office to try and put things right, but it didn't work 'cause he was too angry and kicked you out. That's where we met Graham. Well, it was was the first time for you, not so much for me."

It couldn't have been more different from the first time they'd met Graham, at his audition. He'd recently quit his crappy job as a security guard, and was looking for something to tide him over and help pay his mortgage whilst he tinkered in his garage. They saw hundreds of talented people over those few days, but Graham stood out a mile (as usual), and they all got on with him immediately. The whole fire juggling thing had been a nice bonus.

"I remember that," Graham added. "You screamed in my face and called me a total bastard, out of nowhere. I was contemplating having you arrested for hurling abuse at me."

"You deserved it. And once I'd explained about what was happening, you were thrilled to meet me."

"Then we chloroformed Gary."

They both laughed, but Gary didn't. "Yeah, I don't remember that bit quite as well as you two, but I do know that I woke up the next morning with a sore wrist and a pounding headache."

"Ah, now, not all of that was our fault, Gaz - you were struggling so much that you whacked your head on the doorframe when you went down. And anyway, you lived to tell the tale, didn't you?"

"Just about, Gray, although if I develop brain damage in later life I know who to pin the blame on." Gary grinned. "Then we went on that mad trip around Manchester trying to get the band together, signed up with Tim, and here we are."

As a silence descended, an awful sadness hit Mark right in the chest. He remembered everything Gary said, but after that there was a huge, twenty-three year gap in his memory about what came next. The memories might come back eventually, like Graham had told him, but what if they never returned? Mark didn't know how he and Gary got together, he didn't know how he and the lads got on behind the scenes, he didn't know about their dizzying highs or their crushing lows. He felt like he didn't know anything about his own life, and it was gutting.

Noticing Mark looked glum, Gary gave him a hug. "Hey, anytime you want to ask about anything, you do it, okay? Doesn't matter when it is- day or night - if I know, I'll tell you."

"Me too, mate," Graham added, smiling. "It's mostly... No, it's _all_ my fault that your future is different, so it's the least I can do."

Mark felt a bit better. "I don't know if 'fault' is the right word, seeing as things seem to be better this time around. Did I, er..." He struggled to find the right words, not wanting Gary to panic or think less of him. "You remember in The Clocktower when we were getting the lager, and I sort of told you about a problem I had in my timeline?" Graham nodded. "Did any of that happen?"

"No. It didn't need to."

That was all Mark needed to know, and he snuggled up to Gary, content. So what if he didn't know much about his own life? He'd have a lot of fun finding it all out for himself, fitting the pieces together and working out what came next. It was almost like he'd been given a second chance at life, the opportunity to begin all over again and make a better job of it this time.

A shrill voice interrupted him from his thoughts.

"Graham Bannister?! Get your arse out of that hovel you call an office and come down here right now!"

Terrified, Graham jumped to his feet and rushed to the door, faster than Mark had ever seen him move. "Just coming, darling!" he called. "I'm in so much trouble, aren't I?"

Gary said something in response, but Mark didn't hear him properly. He was far too busy listening to the slow, steady, comforting sound of Gary's gentle breathing, feeling his chest rising and falling under his hand. This was what he'd missed, and last night he'd been too tired to appreciate what he'd come home to.

Gary shifted over to make room, and they lay on the plush sofa, clutching one another tightly in case either of them should go wandering off again.

"I missed you," Mark muttered. "Being with young-you was nice, but it wasn't the same."

Gary lifted his head. "Hey," he said, "I'm still young."

"Mmm," Mark said, fighting to hold back a laugh. "Younger-you, then. God, you were sexy back then. And yes, you're still sexy now."

"Not so bad yourself." 

A peaceful silence followed, and Mark felt himself dropping off to sleep. Graham's office was cosy and warm, he could hear Gary's breathing, feel his heartbeat. Everything combined was lulling him towards slumber, and he was quite happy to let it take him whenever it wanted.

But before it could, Gary interrupted.

"Erm, Markie..." He sounded as if he was gearing himself up for broaching a difficult topic. "I hope you don't mind me asking you this, but if I don't then it'll drive me crazy for the rest of my life, so I'm just going to come out with it. When you were in the past, why didn't we... I mean, why didn't you..."

Mark twisted himself around so that he could see Gary's face. "Why didn't I what?"

Gary looked uncomfortable, and Mark doubted that it was the sofa.

"Why didn't you want to sleep with younger-me?"

Mark laughed out loud, unable to stop himself before it came spilling out. Gary was chewing his bottom lip, not looking anywhere near amused. When he noticed, Mark stopped laughing at once and gave him a kiss.

"I wanted to, sort of, but we didn't. It was for the best."

Typically, Gary honed in on one specific part of his answer. "You wanted to?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. Actually," he poked Gary in the chest, "I think you'll find it was _you_ that wanted it the most, if you can remember back that far. I knew it would've been wrong, but for you it didn't feel that way."

"I wanted you so much," Gary said, a tinge of pink on his cheeks, despite everything. "I was pretty bewildered with the whole thing anyway, and then my usual urges started appearing whenever I saw you. I didn't know if I was coming or going, half the time."

"A hot forty year old showed up, said he was from the future and told you that you were destined to be together. It was only natural, Gaz."

Gary chuckled, clearly agreeing with that, and stretched out onto his back so that Mark could cuddle up next to him. The sofa was big enough that they could've laid next to one another quite comfortably, but Mark wanted to be as close as possible. He got the feeling that Gary felt the same way.

"I do remember thinking you were gorgeous from the second I saw you, Markie. And for all these years I've wondered if I fell in love with you at that moment, but it took meeting your younger self at the audition for it to all slot into place. Even after I did meet younger-you, it took a long time for me to forget the you I met first, and I've always hoped you didn't notice. You still being here and everything sort of confirms you either didn't notice, or you didn't care."

"Probably both, Gaz. This is me we're talking about. And I'm sorry if it was hard for you, dealing with all those confusing feelings by yourself. If it makes you feel any better, I struggled between loving 1989 you and loving 2012 you the entire time. Remember the shopping trip?" Gary nodded. "When you came out in those jeans I was this close to shoving you back in that changing room and having my way with you."

"I was just a boy, you dirty git," Gary laughed, planting a tender kiss on the end of Mark's nose. "Looks like we fancy each other no matter how old we are, eh? I'd say that's a positive sign."

"So would I. And in hindsight I think I prefer 2012 Gary - he's got that sexy old-man, worldy experience vibe about him."

"Yeah yeah. One year, one week, Markie."

They fell asleep like that, neither caring about the probability of stiff necks in the morning, because all that mattered was being there, together.


	16. ...There's Another Round For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!

~

Over a leisurely breakfast, Graham dropped a bombshell so huge that Mark choked on his toast, and Graham had to rush around the breakfast bar and whack him on the back to keep him alive.

"I've decided: I'm gonna take the ol' time machine somewhere else."

Samantha was in the lounge, showing Gary their new piano and asking him hundreds of boring questions about technique and cleaning. Gary was only too happy to share his expertise, and Mark could hear him droning on and on about soft cloths and special polish. She seemed quite interested, so Mark didn't feel the need to dive in and save her (yet).

Most of the other guests had wandered home by this point, leaving the two of them alone in the kitchen. One of two kitchens, actually, with this particular one serving the west wing of the house. It had silver cupboards which gleamed in the sunlight, and a Bannister's Coffee Machine stood proudly on the dark marble worktop as Graham poured strawberries into it. Mark wasn't sure that strawberry flavoured coffee was the way to go, but he was always willing to try new things.

"Seriously?" Mark croaked, gulping down some of his (plain, normal) coffee to try and get the lingering crumbs out of his throat. "Whereabouts?"

"Dunno yet, I haven't decided. Forward, somewhere. I've always wanted to see the future, you know."

"And you're sure that's a good idea?" Mark asked. "You saw what me doing back did - what if you fuck something up beyond repair and there's nobody around to help you fix it again?"

"Weird as it sounds, it's much harder to fuck up in the future than it is in the past," Graham said, proving once again that he had a knack for making difficult things sound simple. "All you have to do is make sure you don't interact with anyone too much, particularly anybody you know, and to keep all conversation to a minimum. All I want to do is hang around for a day or so to see what's happening, then come straight back without causing any trouble. And I'll take plenty of fuel with me, so there's nothing to worry about there."

"What does Sam think about it?"

Graham frowned, and was suddenly very interested in an imaginary stain on the nozzle of the coffee machine. "Haven't told her yet," he said, quietly. "Haven't told her about any of it. I will, one day, but I don't think it's the right time."

"Sooner rather than later, mate, because she might object to her fiancé buggering off to the future without telling her," Mark pointed out. "I know I would."

"She's going to visit her parents tonight, so I'll do it whilst she's away and then she won't need to find out until we're both home. She'll be gone for a few days and I'll be back well before she is, and I promise I'll explain everything to her afterwards."

Mark shrugged and had another sip of coffee. "You're a braver bloke than I am, mate, and I wish you the best of luck. Just don't ask me to come with you, I've had more than enough of time travel and I've only done it twice!"

Gary came into the kitchen then, planting a tender kiss on Mark's cheek and sinking onto the stool next to him in one smooth move. He looked exhausted, but that was his own fault for drinking one too many glasses of coffee-wine the night before.

"Blimey Gray, your Sam doesn't half ask some complicated questions!" he said, blinking hard as if he was in shock. "I thought I knew a decent amount about pianos, but I couldn't answer some of 'em! She's gone of to pack her suitcase so I managed to make my escape, but honestly it was touch and go for awhile there!" He accepted the cup Graham was offering. "What're you two nattering about?"

"Graham's going to the future."

If he was honest, Gary didn't look even half as shocked as Mark had imagined. Instead, he nodded. "Yeah, I thought he would at some point."

"What? Gaz, have you lost your mind?" Mark couldn't believe he could be this blasé about such a thing, considering the circumstances. "I know you didn't see what I was going through the same way that I did, but you heard what I told you, didn't you? How I nearly fucked up both of our lives by having a fifteen minute conversation with you in the back room of a grotty old pub?"

Infuriatingly, Gary shrugged. "Yeah, but he's going forwards, not back. I don't see how he can fuck anything up by going forwards."

"I..." Mark shook his head in disbelief. "I'm not going to come that close to losing you again, Gaz, I can't cope with the stress."

Graham crossed the room and lay one of his stupidly big hands on Mark's shoulder. "There's nothing for you to worry about, mate, I won't do anything to put your lives in jeopardy. If it makes you feel better then I won't interact with you guys at all, I'll go up to Scotland or something - as far from here as possible. I don't want to mess anything up, you know that. I wouldn't do it on purpose, would I?"

"I didn't exactly mean to do it, it just happened" Mark said. "You're the one who was so adamant that I mustn't talk to anyone or tell them anything, you kept telling me how careful I had to be."

"Right, and I'll _be_ careful. Like I said, I only want to look around for awhile, and I'll make sure not to do anything stupid. I've done a lot of research over the years Markie, and I know how far I can take things before it starts getting dangerous."

Mark stared open mouthed at the two of them, fighting the urge to slap them both silly. Graham, beaming so confidently, and Gary, nonchalantly drinking his coffee as if the whole 'time-travel' thing wasn't a big deal. How could they be so relaxed?

He knew that he could put a stop to it if he brought Samantha on board, because she would immediately tell Graham he was being stupid and that she'd leave him if he went ahead. Mark wanted to fetch her, to beg her to put a stop to the madness, but he couldn't do that to Graham. They'd been mates for years and been through so much together, and he'd only known Samantha for a day (in his conscious memory, anyway). He couldn't betray one of his best friends like that. Mark was very loyal, and this time he had a feeling that he was being far too loyal for his own good.

"Well," he said, with a sigh. "I just want it known that I'm against it in all ways, shapes and forms. I've been through time travel, backwards and forwards, and I can tell you that it isn't in the least bit fun."

"I don't expect it to be fun, Mark," Graham said, "but I do expect it to be an adventure!"

"It'll definitely be one of those, although I should point out it might not be a nice one."

Gary leaned over and slipped an arm around his waist. "So, you're all in favour, then?"

"No, not at all, but I can't stop him, can I? Look at the size of him!"

"He'd snap you in half, love."

"He would," Mark laughed, as Graham mimed doing just that. "Yeah, fuck you. I think you're crazy, but what do I know? I'm only a seasoned pro at the whole time-travelling thing."

Graham raised his mug. "That you are. So, oh wise traveller, do you have any advice for me?"

"Just one thing: don't bugger anything up. That's the best advice you'll ever get on the subject."

~

Against Mark's better judgement, Graham insisted on giving them a lift back to their house in the Datsun. Mark had never wanted to set foot inside it again, but he had to admit it was almost pleasant to be in it without driving it himself (or worrying about the current year).

Scrunched up in the minuscule backseat, he stared out of the window and watched the scenery and other cars rush past. Graham and Gary were discussing the virtues of cassette tapes, and Gary laughed heartily when he pressed eject and _Take That and Party_ popped out of the player.

Although he could hear them, Mark wasn't really listening. Instead, he was thinking about Graham's planned trip to the future, trying to decide whether or not he was being a stick in the mud about it. On one hand, it would be interesting to know what happened to them, both as a band and as people. But on the other there were so many things that could go wrong, and he couldn't fully condone it. The mere thought of coming so close to losing his entire life again was too much to bear.

And what could he do about it, really? It was Graham's car, Graham's time machine, and if he was so determined to go, then he should do it. He'd promised not to screw anything up, and Mark had to trust him. It wasn't as if he'd know if anything changed, at least he'd be ignorant of the fact, this time. It would be Graham who'd have to shoulder that responsibility for the rest of his life, and Mark thought that was fair enough. Anyone who willingly used the bloody thing deserved the consequences, even someone he liked and respected as much as Graham.

"D'you remember this one, Mark?" Gary was asking, flicking the volume knob as he started singing along. " _Put your head against my life..._ "

" _What do you hear..._ " Mark joined in, not caring if he didn't sound as good. "Can't forget that one, Gaz."

"I don't think anyone can forget that one," Graham said. He joined in for the chorus, over-exaggerating his singing to make them laugh. "A true classic."

"Of course it is," Mark said. He reached forwards and ruffled Gary's hair. "My beloved wrote it, after all."

"Well, you know me – I'm an old romantic."

They turned into their road, and Mark was overcome with joy at the prospect of going home and staying there, with no need to do anything at all. 

After bidding farewell to Graham and reminding him to be careful, Gary opened the front door and immediately headed into the studio, muttering something about feeling inspired. Mark left him to it, saying that he might pop his head in there later if anything came to mind. For now though, he felt like mooching about, tidying up a bit, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

_At last,_ Mark thought to himself as he pulled the Hoover out of the cupboard, _everything's back to normal._

~

"Fancy watching a film, Markie?"

"Sure, put one on and I'll be through in a second."

"What d'you fancy? Ooh, _Back to The Future_?" 

Mark poked his head out of the kitchen to give Gary a pointed look, finding him on his knees in front of the DVD player, looking through their collection.

"No, find something else. I don't want anything to do with time travel ever again, not even watching it on telly."

As he went back to loading the dishwasher, Mark heard Gary laugh - but Mark hadn't been joking. He didn't want to hear anything about time travel, the future, the past. The present was good enough, and there was nothing wrong with them staying exactly where they were. Mark couldn't think of anything better: him sorting the kitchen after dinner, Gary organising the evening's entertainment. They'd watch their film, head up to bed, have sex if they were awake enough, and fall asleep curled around one another.

Maybe it wasn't very exciting, but it was infinitely better than the unknown. This little slice of domesticity was perfect, and Mark didn't want anything spoiling it.

Mark finished putting the last saucepan into the dishwasher, and headed into the living room. Gary was waiting for him on the sofa, the remote in one hand and his glass of wine in the other. He raised his arm in the air so Mark could duck under it, and pulled him in close.

Smiling, Mark cuddled up next to him, more than ready to settle in for a normal, quiet evening - in 2012.

~

A loud knocking sound woke Mark with a start. They had fallen asleep on the sofa well before the film had finished, and the main menu was now playing away to itself on a loop. He fumbled for the remote to switch it off, and listened again.

Had the noise been on the telly? Mark waited for a second before working out that not only was it real, it was their front door and it was still going on. He disentangled himself from the snoozing Gary, and heaved himself to his feet so he could go and see who it was.

It wasn't a surprise to see Graham standing there, and as Mark opened the door to reveal him (looking extremely frazzled), he realised he'd been expecting to see him.

"Alright mate?"

"Mark! Thank God you're home! You have to come with me, right away!"

Graham reached over the threshold and grabbed Mark's arm, trying to drag him outside. Mark pulled his arm away sharply, and tightened his grip on the door frame.

"No way mate, we've only just got settled in! I want to spend some alone time with Gaz - I'm going nowhere tonight."

"Mark, you don't understand! This is an emergency!"

It was then that Mark noticed Graham's bizarre clothes. The man had worn some strange things over the course of their friendship, but he normally waited until he was on stage to bring out some of the more interesting pieces. The rest of the time he tended to stick to jeans and shirt, maybe a t-shirt if he was feeling super casual. This, however, was an outfit that even Mark would describe as extravagant. 

"What's with the dressing down?" he asked. He pinched at the silver material: it was rougher than it looked, and crunched as he rubbed it between his fingers. "And the cowboy boots?"

Graham shook his head. "It's not a dressing gown, this is the fashion for people of my age in 2035. You have to blend in, Mark, you know that!" He held out his foot, wriggling it. "And the boots are just my personal taste - I've always wanted a pair." Suddenly he snapped his head up, as if remembering he was there for a purpose, and that purpose was not to discuss fashion. "None of that's important right now; lock the door and get in the car, I'll explain everything on the way to the future!"

He turned and rushed down the driveway, still talking about what a catastrophe it was and obviously expecting Mark to be hurrying after him.

"Sorry mate," Mark called, stepping back behind the door and getting ready to close it. He didn't care how adamant Graham was, he could be just as stubborn if he wanted to be, and today he did. "But I don't fancy it right now. Maybe next time, eh?"

Graham spun around and rushed back up to the house, taking Mark by his shoulders and gripping firmly. "I'm sorry, but you don't have a choice in the matter. I wouldn't do this if it wasn't important, and you have to believe me when I say that it is! Please don't make me chloroform you, you know full well that I can if necessary."

"Listen, I'm not going anywhere with you right now, okay? I'm staying right here with Gary, watching the end of our film and then going to bed."

"Gary? Oh God, he has to come too, this concerns both of you!"

Graham pushed past him, shouting for Gary. Mark followed, his protestations falling on deaf ears.

All of the commotion had woken Gary up, and he was sitting up on the sofa, blinking sleepily. He yawned, stretched, and then smiled when he saw Graham stumbling into the front room.

"What're you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you were off on your big adventure?"

Graham crossed the room in two strides, pulling Gary to his feet as soon as he reached him. "I was, I've just come back. You both need to come with me right now. There's no time to explain, you'll just have to trust me when I say that it's an emergency."

This was when Gary said something utterly bewildering, something so out of character that Mark had to stop himself from hitting him over the head with something hard. He'd thought that, after over twenty years together, he knew Gary Barlow quite well. Time travel related changes aside, Gary was Gary, and Mark had always assumed that nothing he ever said or did could surprise him all that much. They'd been through a lot of shit together, and even when Mark hadn't been able to guess how the world would act, he'd always been able to predict how Gary would.

But what Gary said next bowled him over completely.

"I'll go and get the coats."

"No, you can't wear your 2012 clothes or you'll stick out like a sore thumb! Don't worry, I bought you some more appropriate clothes whilst I was there, I'll go and fetch them from the Datsun."

Graham dashed back outside, leaving Mark staring in horror at the man he'd always thought of as so level-headed and rational.

"Have you _flipped_?"

Gary looked into his eyes, and for a brief, terrifying second Mark thought he almost looked excited. "I know it's crazy," he said, "but when Graham says it's an emergency, you kinda have to believe him, don't you?"

"No!" Mark spluttered. "No, you don't! What you do is, you say: _That's nice Gray, but I'm a bit busy having an evening in 2012 right now_ , and then you close the door and put another DVD in! That's what you do! You don't say, _okay, sure, that sounds like a really good fucking idea_ , and follow him out into the unknown!"

"But it's not the unknown, 'cause he's been there and knows what's what."

Mark groaned. "Didn't you hear him? There's an emergency, and I don't know what's classed as an emergency in whatever year he's visited, but it tends to be a very bad thing in this one."

"And that's why I think we should go, love. If someone's in trouble then we might be able to help!"

"...Why do I get the feeling that it's _me_ who's about to get into a whole world of trouble?"

There wasn't any time for Mark to ponder this any longer, as Graham was back in the room and thrusting bundles of clothes at them both. Mark unraveled what he'd been given to find a pair of bright orange trousers, and a blue t-shirt with a strange, liquid like design on the front. He turned to Gary, who was holding a pair of turquoise trousers and a silky shirt with matching tie. The pattern on the tie looked as if it was moving.

Graham was practically dancing around the living room in his anticipation. "Hurry up and get that lot on, I'm not sure how long we have!" He motioned with his hands. "C'mon, get moving!"

With an extreme sense of trepidation, Mark complied with the request. He felt a little silly as he pulled the luminous trousers on, although he was impressed that Graham had managed to find a pair that fitted him so well.

"What am I supposed to put on my feet, then?" he asked, wriggling his sock clad toes on the carpet. "Or do they not wear shoes in the future?"

"Of course they do, don't be silly!" Graham hurried into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. "They're right in front of you."

When Mark looked down, he didn't see any shoes. What he actually saw were two rectangles of black material, roughly the same length and width of his foot.

"What the fu-"

"Step on 'em," Graham said from the kitchen, where he was clattering about in the cupboards and likely making a big mess for Mark to clear up. "Do you have any fruit? We need to take fruit."

"There might be some apples in the fridge, mate. Is my tie straight, Markie?"

Mark, who was still nervous about standing on the 'shoes' in case they did something terrible to his feet, looked up at Gary. He was fully dressed as well, collar still sticking up and the lurid tie hanging around his neck.

"It's a bit wonky, still. C'mere, let me sort it out." Gary stood still as Mark adjusted it for him, and when he went to lower his hands, Gary caught them in his own.

"Hey," he whispered, "I don't want you to worry about anything, okay? I'll make sure we're safe and sound, nothing's gonna happen to either of us." He stroked Mark's cheek. "You trust me, don't you?"

Mark nodded. "Of course I trust _you_ , Gaz, it's everything else I don't trust," he said. "It's so bloody dangerous, and I don't think either of you realise what we're getting ourselves into by going."

"But if we can help someone who's in trouble, then that's a good thing. Right?"

"Yeah." He sighed, Gary having won him over as usual. "Yeah, I know."

After a quick, affirmative kiss, they let go of one another to finish getting ready. Mark took a step forward, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see his feet being ripped to shreds. When he dared to open them again, he saw a pair of smart black loafers that fitted like a dream.

"There are bloody brilliant!" Gary said. He was now wearing a pair of brown loafers, and when Mark spotted them, he had to fight back a laugh. "They'd be great on tour, save a few precious seconds getting shoes on and o- What're you giggling about?!"

"You can't see yourself," Mark said, pointing Gary in the direction of the mirror. "Go and look, you'll see what I mean."

Gary did, twisting around so that he could see the full outfit. "It doesn't look that bad," he said, poking his bum out. "The trousers are nice. Colour scheme might be slightly off." He frowned. "Yeah, it's awful. You don't look too much better, though."

Before Mark could join him in front of the mirror, Graham burst through from the kitchen, clutching their wooden fruit bowl.

"What's all that for?" Mark asked, grabbing a grape as they whizzed past him and popping it into his mouth. He turned to Gary, who looked as confused as he was, and the two of them followed Graham outside. "Graham? What's the fruit for?"

Graham, apparently, was far too busy pouring it into a funnel he had under the bonnet to hear him.  When Gary saw what was going on, he stopped locking the front door and rushed over to the car, aghast.

"No!" he cried. "What's he doing with my fresh strawberries?! Make him stop, Markie!"

"I told you before, I can't stop him!" Mark said. "What're you doing, Gray?"

Graham tipped the last few pieces of fruit in - two peaches and a pear that was on the turn - and looked up at them both. "I've modified the time machine in a number of ways, the most important being that it now runs on fruit rather than alcohol. I thought it would be easier to come by in the future, and it was good thinking on my part because The Clocktower isn't there anymore."

"But I need those for my breakfast smoothies!" Gary whined, peering mournfully down into the fuel nozzle as if that would help his plight. Graham batted him out of the way so that he could secure the cap in place. "I don't think I like the future very much, and we haven't even left yet."

If the agitated way Graham was jumping about was anything to go by, he didn't have the time for such nonsense. "Just shut up and get in the car, please!"

There was a large rucksack squashed into the passenger footwell, so Mark and Gary climbed into the back. It was a squeeze, but neither of them minded that so much.

"Put your seatbelts on," Graham said as he got into the front. He opened the sun visor, which was now covered in complicated looking dials and flashing lights. Thankfully, he seemed to know what he was looking at, and set about adjusting some of them. "Hold on tight."

As the engine roared into life, Mark grasped the edge of the seat with one hand, seeking Gary out with the other. If they were going to die on this trip, at least they'd be together until the very end.

Graham backed out of their driveway and all the way down the road. There were no other cars on the road, and no pedestrians on the street - which was good, because Mark knew what was going to happen next. Sure enough, Graham glanced in the mirror, gave them a smile that plainly said _trust me_ , and stamped his foot on the accelerator.

They shot forwards, building up speed at an alarming rate, far more than before. Mark could just about see the speedometer from his seat, climbing so fast that the needle was vibrating.

_ Fifty-eight, fifty-nine... _

"C'mon old girl, do this for me," Graham pleaded, leaning forward in his desperation. "That's it, just a bit more... Just a bit more..."

_ Sixty, sixty-one... _

"How fast have you got to go, mate?" Gary asked, the horror of the situation finally hitting him. If it hadn't been so horrendous, Mark would've allowed himself to feel smug. "We're gonna run out of road in a minute!"

_ Sixty-two, sixty-three... _

"Don't worry about that! Everything is calibrated perfectly; I know exactly what I'm doing!"

_ Sixty-four, sixty-five... _

Graham's words didn't appease Gary in the slightest.

_ Sixty-six, sixty-seven... _

In fact, he squeezed Mark's hand even harder.

_ Sixty-eight, sixty-nine... _

"Markie?"

_ Seventy, seventy-one... _

As much as he longed to take what could very well have been one last look at Gary, Mark couldn't tear his eyes away from the speedometer.

_ Seventy-two, seventy-three... _

"Yeah?"

_ Seventy-four, seventy-five... _

"If we actually make it back from this alive..."

_ Seventy-six... _

"...will you marry me?"

_ Seventy-seven. _

_ To be continued... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for now! I'll be back in a few weeks (hopefully) with Part 2, but it needs a heck of a lot more work than this did.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who read any of this story <3


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